


Bullets, Blunts and Baseball

by ronandhermy



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:46:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 28,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronandhermy/pseuds/ronandhermy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian Gallagher and Mickey Milkovich have been best friends since Little League, everyone on the South Side knew that. They didn't know that it was bound to become something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Pitch

“Hey batter, batter, batter, swing batter,” a fast-paced yell came from first base as a dirty dark haired boy pounded his fist into his glove. The bruise around his eye and the various scrapes and bruises were a testament to his willingness to fight with any opponent, big or small. Ian Gallagher had no doubt that Mickey Milkovich would beat the batter out even if he managed to hit the ball. The older boy had no qualms about playing dirty even in plain sight. 

The batter hit the ball and it bounced before second base. Ian grabbed the ball, fashioned his grip just like Lip had shown him, and threw the ball to Mickey. He caught it but the batter, Hernadez, barreled into Mickey causing him to drop it. Which let the kid have a chance to run to second where he pushed Ian to the dirt in order to claim the base.

Mickey was pissed. He was yelling at the ref, yelling at the kid, yelling at Ian to stand back up, and then he just go so frustrated he opened his pants and proceeded to take a piss on first base. Ian just paused as the rest of the field paused for a moment in shock. And then the ref was yelling and dragging Mickey off the pitch by the collar of his dirty uniform, and some parents were yelling in outrage while others were cheering the dark haired boy on, and Ian, he was laughing so hard he couldn’t even stand up. Mickey just looked so damn proud of himself and he raised his middle finger in salute to the field as he was led away.

After the game, which they’d lost, Ian found Mickey sitting outside of the field throwing stones at the windows of some of the nicer cars. 

“Good game Mickey,” Ian said with a smile, his freckles collecting into bunches. 

“We fucking lost Gallagher,” Mickey replied, looking at Ian like he was an idiot. 

Ian just shrugged in response and Mickey went back to chucking stones at the car windows. He was all right at it but his aim wasn’t that accurate and his throw lacked his normal strength, but not his ire. Ian just watched him for a little bit longer before Mickey looked up at the red head and asked, “What the hell are you still doing here?”

Ian reached down and picked up a decently sized stone, half the size of a tennis ball, and felt its weight for a bit. Then he hurled it with deadly accuracy at the window and took a vicious sort of pleasure in watching it shatter.

“Holy shit,” Mickey said, standing up with a start.

“Guess you should stick to catching,” Ian said with another grin and then both boys were off and running to avoid being held responsible for the destruction they had wrought. Two blurs of black and red sped through the South Side, jumping over fences, pounding the sidewalks and avoiding any narks. Ian wasn’t sure when running from something turned into just running for fun but by the time they reached the Gallagher house they were laughing as they battled to catch their breathes. 

“Wanna come in?” Ian asked, “Fiona bought popsicles.” He didn’t know why he was asking to voluntarily spend more time with Mickey Milkovich. He was Lip’s age and a bully to older and smaller children alike. Even some adults. But he made Ian laugh and Vee said that an important characteristic of a person that you should have in your life. 

Mickey thought about it and Ian could see him visibly struggling with the idea of hanging out with a Gallagher. Even though that was just what they had done. But by entering the house it would become official, it would almost make them friends. Then Mickey shrugged and said, “You got cherry?”

“Yeah,” Ian said happily, as he trotted into the house with Mickey slowly making his way behind him. 

If anyone in the neighborhood had been looking at the Gallagher house at the particular moment they would have seen a blob of red hair and a head of black hair disappearing into the old house. It was a sight that would become so familiar over the next couple of years that if anyone wanted to find a certain Milkovich they almost always checked the Gallagher house first. But this was just the beginning and very few people would know of it except the boys who the beginning belonged to.


	2. The First Blade

“Hey, wanna see something cool?” Mickey asked Ian as they hung out at the courtyard of the local middle school. They both had decided to ditch third period, Mickey had English and Ian had History, and neither of them really cared. Ian knew Lip would tutor him on what he needed to know to pass and Mickey just did not give a shit. 

Which was ironic, Ian couldn’t help but muse when he thought about it, because Mickey actually seemed to like middle school. Or like it as much as he could like a place of higher learning. He always said that middle school was the most honest look at humanity. All the shit and vile natured kids were showing who they really were before they learned to hide it and cover their tracks. Middle school was raw and Mickey liked things that were raw. He liked things that could hurt, could destroy, could make you bleed. It made him feel strong to survive it. 

Ian wasn’t sure why Mickey liked him but he thinks it has to do with the fact that he can make Mickey laugh. And not in that cruel way just before he hits someone, but with actual pleasure. It might also be because Ian’s not afraid to hit Mickey back when he throws a punch. Ian learned early on if he wanted to be friends with Mickey he had to learn how to stand up for himself.

“Sure,” Ian said, shrugging as he snagged the lit cigarette from Mickey’s hand. He inhaled the smoke and forced himself not to cough. He still wasn’t used to it but he liked the way it made him feel. Like he was old enough to control what got to kill him instead of waiting for the adults to finish fucking up his life. 

Mickey pulled out something from his pocket and then with a flick of his wrist opened up what turned out to be a butterfly knife. It had a black handle and the steel looked brand new.

“Nice,” Ian said in appreciation as Mickey showed off some of his newly learned knife moves.

“Dad got it for me for protection since I got to help with the last run,” Mickey boasted. 

“Don’t let Fiona see you with it,” Ian warned as he reached out and took the knife from Mickey to inspect it closer.

“Who gives a shit? She’s your sister not mine,” Mickey grumbled as took the cigarette back and inhaled his own lungful before blowing the smoke out slowly through his nostrils.

Ian snorted. “Like that matters. Just make sure Carl doesn’t get ahold of it.” He attempted to flick the blade like he’d seen Mickey do it.

“As if he’d stand a chance of taking it from me,” Mickey half-bragged, like taking on an elementary school kid and winning was a praise worthy accomplishment. 

Ian just shook his head and tried the flick again but the blade slipped from his hand and the next thing he felt was pain. “Shit,” he cursed, seeing Mickey’s new blade his the ground, his blood now staining the new blade.

“Fuck,” Mickey said but he wasn’t looking at the knife. Instead he was grabbing Ian’s bleeding hand and sucking at the cut on the red head’s palm. Ian winced but he knew better then to cry as Mickey put pressure on his hand and continued to lap at the lessening stream of blood. The black haired boy was like some fucked up version of a vampire, he was certainly pale enough to be one. 

“There,” Mickey said, pulling his mouth off of the cut after a minute or so. He inspected the cut, made sure it had stopped bleeding, before bending down to pick up his knife. “You’ve got to learn how to handle a god damn blade Gallagher,” the older boy scolded.

“Sorry Mickey,” Ian said really quietly, feeling the throbbing in his hand and trying not to blush for some reason. Mickey just shrugged in reply, indicating it was no big deal. He just wiped the blood from the blade on to his pants.

As Ian looked at Mickey looking at his blade Ian felt a twitch in his heart. He’d felt it before with Mickey and every time he tried to ignore it. Liking guys was fine, just not in this neighborhood. Ian didn’t particularly like the idea of getting stabbed with the very knife Mickey was holding. So he pushed his feelings down and let them settled into the bottom of his heart. 

“Come here,” Mickey demanded, roughly grabbing Ian’s wrist and putting the knife back in his hand. He then proceeded to show Ian the proper way to hold a knife if you were going to stab a guy, cut a guy or do a fancy trick. They ended up skipping fourth period as well but with the feel of Mickey’s hand on his, smoke burning in his lungs and a steady throbbing in his hand Ian couldn’t bring himself to care. He just smiled at Mickey and his grin grew even larger when Mickey smiled back, if only for a second, before he tried to hide it away. But Ian had seen it. He knew it was lurking there beneath the bruises and dirt; Mickey Milkoviche’s happiness.


	3. The First Guy

The first guy Ian ever fucks is Roger Spikey. He’s older, has a fucking donkey dick and somehow has gaydar more accurate than a satellite based rocket launch. He’d cornered Ian after their gym class in the locker room and palmed his dick through his shorts. When he’d gotten the reaction he’d wanted, namely the red head’s prick stiffening, he’d smirked and given him information to meet him later. 

The first time Ian was the one to take it and it hurt like a bitch and a half. Roger had given him his pillow to bite down on as he’d slammed home to his pleasure. Ian had tried not to cry but by the time Roger was finished Ian could feel tears leaking from his eyes. He must have felt bad because he gave Ian a hummer and then allowed him to top. From that moment Ian knew he liked to be the one giving rather than receiving in this arraignment. 

Ian didn’t know why Roger picked him, or how he’d even known, but he knew better then to get feelings mixed up in this arrangement. He didn’t even really like the guy, but he was gay and would keep his mouth shut and hey, Ian wasn’t going to say no to getting some experience. Mickey had already lost his virginity a long time ago and Ian had kinda wanted to catch up. 

Still there were times that Roger would look at him, his eyes tracing his body, that Ian felt uncomfortable. It was like the older boy was caressing him and trying to find a way under his skin. It made him feel dirty. He didn’t know why. But he was glad Roger didn’t try to kiss him or anything like that because as handsome as the older guy was he didn’t actually like him all that much. It was just fucking, nothing more. And when it ended, because it would end, it would be a clean break. 

Mickey was suspicious of the glances and looks Spikey sometimes shot at Ian at school. No way should a senior guy be looking at a freshmen guy like that unless they were in some type of business together or the freshmen had just been put on a hit list of some kind. Mickey refused to think of the other reason some football playing jock was interested in a skinny ROTC loving red head. Those thoughts were wrong and if they had happened then Mickey would have to kill Spikey on principle. He’d let Ian off with a warning because he’d been taken advantage of by a creep. That’s what Mickey told himself anyway.

Ian tried to tell Mickey it wasn’t anything big and just to let it go. He knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Sure enough Spikey’s locker got torched a few days later and Ian decided it might be better to end whatever thing he had going with the much older boy. Roger had been disappointed, had run his hand through Ian’s hair in a way that made the boy wanted to tear off his skin, and said he understood. He'd also given Ian a piece of paper with the college he’d be attending next year if he ever wanted to stop by along with his contact info. Later that night Ian burned that paper while standing over the Milkovich’s sink. If he did it there he knew no one would care what he was doing while at the Gallagher house he would have been interrogated by Lip at the very least. 

Ian spent the night over at the Milkovich’s that night, crawling into share Mickey’s bed. The dark haired boy was already half asleep but he budged over for his best friend. Ian lay there, looking at Mickey who seemed so relaxed, before he asked in a whisper, “Hey Mickey, you ever get touched in a way you don’t like?”

“What?” the dark haired boy mumbled, shoving his head deeper into the shared pillow, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Like has anyone ever touched you like they wanted you but you didn’t want them?” Ian couldn’t believe he was actually asking that question. He wouldn’t blame Mickey if he hit him.

Instead of hitting him the dark haired boy’s eyes opened slowly and he looked Ian over in a scrutinizing fashion. “Someone touch you?” he asks and the way he’s asking let Ian know he doesn’t want to know details but he’ll take care of any S.O.B. that thinks to mess with Mickey Milkovich’s best friend. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Ian says, trying to backpedaled. And in their neighborhood, sad to say, it wasn’t a big deal. Terrible things happened every day and one teenage boy not liking how someone had touched him was at the bottom of the list of things to be concerned about in most every one's mind. 

Mickey just stared at him for a little bit longer then shrugged before closing his eyes again. Ian settled in next to him glad the conversation had been dropped. Then Mickey’s voice came from beside him, relaxed and yet strong, “If he touches you again I’ll cut off his donkey dick.” Then he was out like a light.

Ian just lay there, trying to control his breathing. Mickey didn’t know, Mickey couldn’t know, because if he really knew the whole story he’d go after Ian as well. No way in hell would he be allowed to sleep in the same bed as Mickey. So Ian took a deep breath and let himself move a little bit closer to Mickey and, in a barely there whisper, said, “Thanks.” 

Mickey didn’t say anything back, Ian wasn’t expecting him too, but he threw a companionable arm over Ian’s shoulder. And once again Ian let those little things, those strange feelings he felt for his best friend, collect in the hidden parts of his heart.


	4. The First Flicker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ian is still a freshman.

Frank’s been reported, again, to Child Protective Services because he pissed off some guy he owed money to. Which, to be fair, could be most of the neighborhood. Ian let’s Mickey know at school that he might not be able to hang out as often because he doesn’t know where he’ll be placed. Mickey just nodded, he’d never been in the system but he knew how crappy it was from watching Ian go through it. Later, at lunch, he gave Ian his butterfly knife and let him viciously stab a piece of dirt until some of his anger had been used up. 

“Want to go and shoot some cans under the L after school?” Mickey asked once Ian’s breathing had returned to normal. He lit another cigarette and took a short puff before offering it to the red head.

“Yeah,” Ian said, taking a long drag of the cigarette. When he breathed out the smoke he couldn’t help but mutter, “Fucking Frank.”

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed, taking the cigarette back.

“Iggy getting out of Juvie this week?” Ian asked, changing the subject. Deflecting from his own current fuck-up of a life.

“This Friday. Mom’s gonna pick him up. Think we’re throwing a party for him or some shit. If you’re not too busy being little orphan Annie you could stop by,” Mickey replied. 

“We still taking bets on when he’ll get tossed back in?” Ian asked, a grin threatening to break out on his face. The last time they’d made a bet like that Ian had won a hundred bucks because he’d guessed both the amount of time it would take Iggy to get caught and what the charge would be. Breaking and Entering, four weeks, break of probation. 

“Might be. Mandy’s still pissed you won last time though,” Mickey commented.

“Tough shit, I won fair and square,” Ian said, digging the knife into the dirt and carving jagged patterns. 

“What’d you even do with the money anyway?” Mickey asked, mildly curious.

“Squirrel fund,” Ian said with a shrug of his shoulders. Like it was completely normal for a fourteen year old to give away his money to ensure his siblings were fed and clothed. And for him it was the only course of action.

Mickey just shook his head before taking another drag of the cigarette. 

\-------------------------------

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Mickey asked in disbelief when he saw Ian the next day. The red head was wearing a pair of green plaid trousers along with a matching green plaid vest and tie over a white button down shirt. 

“Not a fucking word,” Ian growled, tearing the tie and vest off and shoving them into his locker. 

“You get kidnapped by some Brady Bunch wannabes?” Mickey couldn’t help but crack as Ian shoved his books into his backpack.

“What did I just say?” Ian asked, frustration radiating off of him. “Anyway, Frank’s got court tomorrow so hopefully this nightmare can hurry up and end already.”

“You actually think he’ll pull it off?” Mickey asked, as they made their way down the hall.

“He always does,” Ian said with a shrug. Then he sighed and his shoulders slumped a bit, “At least I hope he does this time.”

“Hey man,” Mickey said, trying not to show the concern he felt, “if there’s anyone who can fool the courts it’s fucking Frank. Soon all of you Gallagher brats will be cramming into that shit house again in no time.”

“Hey, you spend enough nights at that “shit house’ we should be charging you rent,” Ian replied, shaking a bit of his worry off.

“You saying my presence isn’t enough for you, Gallagher?” Mickey joked, jabbing the red head in the side.

Ian just laughed and flipped him the bird before disappearing into his English classroom. Mickey watched him go and tried to ignore that piece of his heart that called out after the red headed boy. He forced an internal gag into that part of himself and made his way down the hall. Best to keep certain things quiet. Didn’t want to fuck up the good thing he had going with Gallagher after all.


	5. The First Shotgun

Mickey and Ian were currently sitting on Ian’s bed rolling a joint when Lip burst into the room. 

“You still got that bowie knife?” Lip asked, as he began to rummage through a few drawers, his agitation pouring off of him. 

“Yeah,” Ian said, as he watch Mickey’s tongue flick out to wet the paper before completing the roll. “What’d you need it for?”

“Some shit head still owes me money for a test I took for him. Figure I’d go around and scare him,” Lip replied.

Without another word, Ian dug beneath the slots of his bed and pulled out the knife in question. He extended it to Lip without a second thought.

“Clever hiding place,” the older boy noted, mildly impressed, as he took the knife.

“Didn’t want Carl getting to it,” Ian noted, as he flicked open his lighter and lit the joint that was perched in Mickey’s mouth.

“If you want,” Mickey breathed out the smoke into Ian’s face with a shit eating smirk, “my brothers and me can go have a chat with whoever the fuck head is. Rough him up a bit.”

“Thanks, but uh no thanks,” Lip replies, still a little wary of Mickey Milkovich. Of all the guys on the planet his little brother decided he wanted to be his best friend he chooses this psychopath. He couldn’t quite understand it. And Lip had learned early on to be very, very careful of things he didn’t understand.

Mickey just shrugged his shoulders before handing the joint off to Ian. The red head eagerly sucked down on the joint and Mickey tried not to watch the hallowing of the younger boy’s cheeks as he inhaled. It made his mind drift to other thoughts, thoughts that could get him killed, so he forced his natural reaction down. 

“Ian,” Lip said, before he headed out, “Debs has got debate so you’re on dinner duty tonight.”

Ian just nodded his assent before taking another puff of the blunt and handing it off the Mickey. The older boy relaxed and reclined against Ian’s pillow, gesturing for the red head to come and sit next to him. They just ended up lying side by side, passing the joint back and forth, and if their fingers linger on occasion they made no mention of it.

“Why you wanna be in the army anyway?” Mickey asked, as his eyes traced the various military posters tapped to the ceiling.

“Dunno. Just like it I guess,” Ian said, his eyes glassed over.

“Just don’t see why you gotta go away to get shot. You can get that all right here,” Mickey said, taking the joint back.

Ian laughed and said, “I can also get arrested,” and continued to laugh.

“Punk,” Mickey said, and punched Ian in the arm. Then he scooted up and turned on his side to face Ian. He gestured to the joint and said, “Here, shotgun.”

Ian eagerly nodded his head as Mickey took in the last deep drag from the spent blunt and held it in his lungs. Then he leaned down and slotted his mouth over Ian’s and released the pungent smoke into the red head’s waiting mouth. It was almost like a kiss, except they could actually get away with this.

Mickey removed his mouth and slid back into his original place, lying beside Ian. The younger boy released the last bit of smoke and had that stupid, goofy grin on his face. Mickey blamed the high for him reaching out and pushing his finger into one of Ian’s dimples. Ian just kept giggling, like his was a four year old on a sugar rush. 

“You staying over tonight?” Ian asked, as he half-poked, half-stroked the dark haired boy’s side.

“Yeah man,” Mickey replied, his eye’s half closed. He didn’t even bother to swat Gallagher’s hand away from whatever the fuck it was doing.

“Your Dad still out on probation?” Ian asked, liking the way the words tasted in his mouth more than what they meant.

“Yup,” Mickey said, “But he’s got a hearing in two weeks. Sure he’ll fuck that up somehow.”

“We’re just a bunch a kids of fuck-ups,” Ian noted, lifting Mickey’s shirt up a little bit so he could pushed his fingers into the older boy’s belly button, liking the way the pale skin constricted and released under his touch.

“Yup,” Mickey agreed with a lazy sigh.

And they just lay there with no more words that needed to be said.


	6. The First Job

Ian wasn’t sure how it had happened, one minute they were arguing over if soccer could be considered a real sport and the next they were roughhousing in the living room. Except roughhousing with Mickey always meant Ian had to fight harder, fight dirtier, and try not to get a boner at the same time. ROTC had nothing on self-control training compared to that. 

Of course Fiona walked in the exact moment Mickey had Ian in a vicious head lock.

“Ian, what the fuck?” she asked, her hair escaping her bun just like her patience was escaping her fragile grasp.

“I can explain,” he gasped out and gave Mickey a harsh kick in the thigh.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Mickey yelled as he let Ian out of the headlock and then punched the shorter boy in the arm.

“You started it,” Ian replied, ducking to avoid another hit.

“Like hell I did,” the dark haired boy protested.

“Boys,” Fiona yelled, causing both of the teenagers to pause and turn to look at her. “I don’t care. Either stay and help clean up or get out of here.”

The boys looked at each other briefly before replying at the same time, “We’ll go.”

Before they were about to head out the door Mickey stopped and turned to Ian. Giving a nod of his head in Fiona’s direction he said, “Go on and tell her.”

“Mickey,” Ian whined, just a little bit.

“Tell me what?” Fiona said, dreading whatever trouble her little brother had someone managed to get into.

There was a pause and then Ian said, scuffing his shoe against the carpet, “I got a job. Starts on Friday, so I won’t be able to help with daycare as much.”

“You got a job?” Fiona asked, setting down her bag and approaching her brother. “Where?”

“The Kash-and-Grab,” Ian said with a blush and Mickey couldn’t help but roll his eyes. 

Fiona pulled Ian into a tight hug and kissed the top of his head. “Good boy,” she said as she released him but Ian could see the relief in his sister’s eyes. A steady income, no matter how small, was nothing to scoff at in this house. 

Mickey rolled his eyes again before grabbing Ian and saying, “All right already, let’s go. Mandy said the guy’s she seeing will let us into the movies for free.”

Ian waved goodbye and half-stumbling followed Mickey down the street. 

“Who’s Mandy seeing now?” Ian asked out of curiosity.

“How the fuck should I know?” Mickey said, “She changes boyfriends faster than Frank can slam a beer.”

“Hey,” Ian protested with a roll of his eyes, “She’s not that bad.”

“Dude, just because you have a crush on her does not make it any less weird,” Mickey said as they turned the corner.

Ian tried not to choke at that statement. Sure, he liked Mandy as a friend and a person but she lacked certain attributes he found attractive. Namely a penis. But he couldn’t exactly blurt out to Mickey that he’d much rather suck his dick then grope his sister. He couldn’t even really refute the accusation of a crush without possibly insulting the Milkovich honor or some shit. 

Instead Ian just reached out and slapped Mickey upside the head. He responded by viciously pinching Ian’s side. And then they were off and running, occasionally hitting the other person. Neither boy would admit to it but they enjoyed these play fights because it gave them an opportunity to touch one another. To feel the flesh they thought about late at night and ignored in the day light. 

Sometimes Ian thought he caught a glimpse of something, a hint of what may be, when he caught Mickey looking at him sometimes. But then Mickey would say or do something, like go and fuck Angie Zago, that made Ian think he was just projecting what he wanted. And, oh did he want Mickey. But he knew he’d have to be happy with what he could get. He was Mickey’s best friend, his only friend really, and that was worth more than whatever the fuck it was that Mickey had going with those fat chicks. 

At least that’s what Ian told himself. 

But man, it was hard to remember that when Mickey slung an arm over Ian’s shoulder to pull his close for nuggie. He allowed himself to enjoy the contact, to drink it in, and to forget about the impossible things he wanted. If only for a time.


	7. The First Fuck

For the past week Mickey and Ian had been fighting. And not just their regular snark and banter but actual not-speaking-except-to-throw-down type of fighting. It had all started because Mickey kept stealing from the Kash and Grab. Normally Ian wouldn’t have given a shit but now Linda was saying that if Ian couldn’t control his friend he might need to find a new job somewhere else. And fuck all if Ian was going to sacrifice the one source of steady income his family had. It wasn't like there was ready supply of employers looking to hire school teens. 

The fight had started out small and just rapidly imploded from there. There may or may not have been some below the belt hits about each other’s mothers and overall status within the community that had resulted in a throw down between fourth period. Neither of them wanted to concede because neither of them were going to really change what they were doing. It was an immovable object meeting and unstoppable force type of conundrum.

Ian had finally gone over to Mickey’s house to confront him because this shit needed to stop. Mickey may be able to pay the bills with illegal activity but Fiona had a pretty strict no-juvie policy that prevented the Gallagher’s from making more money, and more mistakes, in other less than legal business adventures. He didn’t care if Mickey beat the shit out of him, he had to stop stealing, at least from Ian’s place of employment. 

When he got to the house it looked empty but Ian just headed straight for Mickey’s room. The older boy was sleeping on his stomach, his stupid tattoos he’d gotten for his birthday standing out on his knuckles and clad in sweats and a tank. 

“Get up Mickey,” Ian demanded, shoving Mickey to wake him up. 

“Gallagher?” Mickey asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he began to sit up.

“You’ve got to stop stealing from the store. You got it?” Ian demanded, trying to remain firm.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey said and then he decked him. 

The fight was brutal, fists flying, bodies slamming into walls, and then Mickey had Ian pinned on his bed ready to bash his face in when he paused. Ian opened his eyes and realized he was gazing at the very obvious evidence of a boner in Mickey’s pants. Their eyes met and then they were scrambling to rip each other’s clothes off. 

They didn’t speak but moved half on instinct and half on repressed desire. Ian had Mickey on his knees and was kneeling behind him and then Ian was shoving his dick into his best friend. And his best friend was allowing it. Was encouraging it with his gasps and muffled moans. 

It was frenzied and hurried and a bit painful but in a good sort of way. A way that let each boy know that yes, this was really happening. After all those nights wishing for something they didn’t think would happen, it was well and truly happening. And reality was so much better then the fantasy. 

Afterwards they lay naked side by side, sticky and sweaty, their breathing harsh as they pulled the blanket up over their torsos. 

“That was good,” Mickey finally said and he reached for his pack of smokes on the shelf above his bed.

“Hmm,” Ian hummed in agreement, still feeling every part of Mickey in his bones. His left eye was also starting to swell but he could care less about that.

Mickey lit the cigarette and took a drag before handing it off to Ian. They just smoked the cigarette, passing it back and forth, but not speaking about what had just happened. Or the very real fact that it was going to continue to happen. A fuck that good didn’t come around every day. 

“I’ll cut back,” Mickey finally said into the smoke filled silence. 

Ian leaned over, as if to kiss the older boy, but Mickey pushed his head away. “Don’t even fucking think about it,” he said, a hint of steel in his words.

Ian just rolled his eyes and reached for another cigarette. Typical Mickey, he’d let Ian fuck him but a kiss would just be too fucking gay. 

“So my brothers shouldn’t be back for awhile…wanna go again?” Mickey asked, his eyes sliding over Ian.

Ian just laughed, reached over and grabbed Mickey’s dick. He’d always be ready for this boy.


	8. The First Bathroom

Mickey’s mouth was on his dick and Ian thought he might be in heaven. Strange, he didn’t think heaven would be a bathroom stall in the out of order toilet in the basement of his high school but what did he know of celestial resting places anyway. Then Mickey was sucking, taking him deep into his throat, and Ian lost any semblance of coherent thought. Is this what Mickey felt when Ian had gone down on him just a few minutes ago? If so they were going to do this a hell of a lot more. 

Then Ian was coming but the only warning he could give was hoarse cry. Mickey didn’t seem to mind though as he swallowed Ian’s load. When he did take his mouth off Ian’s dick and moved to stand he looked so damn proud of himself. Like he’d just figured out how to scam all of Chicago. Ian was blissed out, a lazy smile stretched out on his face as he tried to tuck himself back into his pants.

“That,” Ian said, not even caring that he was stroking the older boy’s ego, “was fucking amazing.”

“Yeah,” Mickey agreed, pulling out his pack of cigarettes, “I’m hot shit.” He patted his pockets for a moment before asking, “You gotta light?”

Ian nodded and dug out his cheap Bic lighter that was three flames away from being thrown out. He tossed it to Mickey who caught it with ease and he lit up one of the cigarettes before putting the pack away. Ian inhaled the unique stench of smoke, old antiseptic, fresh cum and special scent of Mickey. 

“You coming over tonight?” Ian asked as he took the cigarette from Mickey.

“Probably,” the older boy said, blowing the smoke out of his nostrils in a lazy way. “Got to do a few collections first. You working today?”

Ian nodded. “Yeah, Kash asked me to come in for some reason. Pretty sure he’s gay.”

“He hot for your dick Gallagher?” Mickey teased.

“Shut up,” Ian groaned, giving the cigarette back. “Can I borrow your knife? If he tries anything I want some back up.”

“Sure man,” Mickey said, handing over the worn butterfly knife. He gripped Ian’s hand when he reached for the blade and said, “If it’s really that bad I can take care of it.”

“I know,” Ian said, nodding his head. Mickey nodded back and released Ian. “But I think I need to handle this one on my own,” Ian concluded.

“Whatever man,” Mickey replied, rolling his eyes, but there was an underlying seriousness in his tone. “Guy’s a pussy anyway.” 

Ian just nodded with a small laugh. “Well, I got class,” Ian said, collecting his backpack from the corner, he stood in front of Mickey, his gaze lingering on the dark haired boy. “Fiona’s making burgers tonight so don’t be late.”

Mickey just gave the younger boy a light shove, more an excuse to rest his hand on the red head’s chest than anything else, and gestured for him to get the fuck out of there. Ian reached down, gripped Mickey’s hand briefly in his own, and then headed out to class. And Mickey just watched the red head walk away.


	9. The First Witness

The great thing about being gay and only having one person know it, beside not being fag bashed, was that his best-friend/boyfriend could sleep over in his bed and no one even batted an eyelash. Mickey had been doing it since pretty much the fourth grade so it wasn’t like it was a new development. He always bunked with Ian because it wasn’t like they had extra beds to spare in the Gallagher house. It made the room cramped at times but at least it kept Debbie from suggesting Liam should be moved into the boys’ room.

Mickey didn’t even put up a fuss anymore when Ian’s arms ended up wrapped around the older boy’s waist. He’d just huff and allow Ian to snuggle closer with the false excuse of saving space. Saving space his ass, Mickey couldn’t help but think; even if Gallagher’s dick wasn’t out he might as well be up his ass with how close he was. Carl and Lip just chalked it up to Ian being well, Ian, and were just grateful Mickey hadn’t decked the younger boy yet. 

Like hell he’d deck the guy who decided an early morning wakeup call should be accompanied by a hand job. A fantastic hand job, he might add. Made all the better by Ian’s warm breathe on his neck and the shallow whisper of, “Come on. Cum for me,” being breathed into his ear. He would end up biting down on Ian’s arm to stifle his groan as he came, biting down hard enough to bruise, sometimes even to draw blood. Ian didn’t mind though. He seemed to like the marks, like they meant something more than what they were. 

If Mickey was still able to think he’d reach back and stroke Ian’s dick that was furiously rubbing into Mickey’s ass. Help the younger boy tug to his own satisfaction. He’d hide his smile when the red head would try to hide his moan as he came. Ian usually buried his face in-between the older boy’s shoulder blades, inhaling the scent that was purely Mickey, and tried to keep quiet as their hands claimed each other’s bodies. It was a fine way to wake up in the morning.

Carl slept like a log unless forcibly prodded awake and Lip usually needed to be tickled awake, so the boys weren’t as wary as they might have been jerking each other off in a room with other people. Sleeping people true, but people none the less. Except that one day, Lip wasn’t asleep. He’d been lying in his bunk bed thinking about Karen Jackson when he’d heard a muffled moan. Much to his surprise when he looked down he saw his little brother’s hand working overtime beneath the covers to bring his best friend to orgasm.

Lip had resisted his first instinct, which was to yell “What the fuck are you two doing?” Instead, he turned away from the scene of his little brother grinning as the neighborhood thug withered underneath the younger boy’s hands. While he couldn’t see them anymore he could sure as hell hear the occasional muffled groan or the stifled gasp. It was perhaps the most uncomfortable Lip had been since he’d walked in on Frank and Monica fucking when he was nine. 

Soon, whatever the two boys were doing was over, and he could hear the boys whisper something to each other. Then Ian was getting up, tossing a shirt at Mickey and making his way to the bathroom to claim the first shower of the day. All while sporting a shit eating grin. Lip had seen that expression more often than naught these past view months and he’d just chalked it up to Ian making progress in ROTC and school. Now that he knew it was a product of a Milkovich, Lip began to rethink every encounter he’d ever witnessed between the two boys. 

He also tried to bury the hurt he was feeling at the fact that he had to find out this way. Didn’t Ian trust him enough to let him know that, hey, I like dudes? Did he think Lip would care? Or not love him anymore? Because that was bullshit. His little brother could fuck whatever he wanted-- he’d mock the poor taste that he obviously possessed-- but he would always be his little brother. And he, as the big brother, should have known something like this was going down. It made Lip seethe at how blind he had been to the signs, subtle though they were. He was supposed to be the smart one after all. How the hell did he not know Ian and Mickey were fucking? Mickey practically lived with them for Christ’s sake. 

His mind went into overdrive as he tried to pick out the clues that he’d missed. Mickey had always been soft around Ian, letting him get away with shit that would have gotten any other guy laid out on the floor or stabbed. But Ian, Ian was like a unicorn in the Milkovich shit hole of existence. He was friends with Mandy without fucking her, he could talk smack with the elder Milkovich boys, and he could make Mickey smile with actual warmth. Terry didn’t like him but, to be fair, Terry didn’t even really seem to like his own off spring all that much.

Yet he couldn’t quite pin-point when it’d become normal for Mickey and Ian to touch as much as they did. They weren’t really romantic gestures, like holding hands or anything like that, but casual touches that happened just a little too often. Like Ian resting his hand briefly on Mickey’s shoulder, or Mickey fake-punching Ian in the arm or lightly jabbing him the side. Just little things that on their own would mean absolutely nothing, until someone was able to add them up. Someone smart like Lip. Except he hadn’t figured it out. He’d been shown the answer to the problem he didn’t even realize existed.

It was like a trick exam question: Who is Ian Gallagher fucking?

A. No one.  
B. Mandy Milkovich  
C. Angie Zago  
Or  
D. A and C. 

Surprise, the answer was E. Mickey “I’ll fuck you up” Milkovich.

Lip wanted to hit himself, or better yet, hit Mickey. That would make him feel at least a little bit better. But he would admit, at least to himself, that the dark haired boy could probably kick his ass. And he wouldn’t spare Lip just because he was his fuck buddy’s older brother. If anything that would probably just make him punch harder.

The street genius forced himself to roll out of his bed, landing on the floor with a loud thump. Mickey was now sprawled out, face first in Ian’s pillow, half-asleep with a stupid little half-smile on his face. 

God, Lip really wanted to punch him. 

Instead, though, he planned out his course of action for when he finally cornered Ian. Alone.

\---------------

Later that day, when Mickey had finally gone home, and Fiona was at work, and Debbie was playing with Carl and Liam somewhere, Lip lit the cigarette that was hanging out of Ian’s mouth as he lounged on his bed.

“She gave me a hummer, right there in the dining room, with her Mom in the kitchen,” Lip regaled, as he segwayed the conversation in the direction he wanted.

“Nice,” Ian nodded, proud of his brother’s sexual exploits.

“So uh,” Lip began, taking a puff of his own cigarette, “you ever get a hummer?”

“Hmm? Once or twice,” Ian replied with a shy smile before working on untying the shoelaces Carl had knotted in some bastardaztion of boy scouts. 

“Really?” Lip asked with a half-laugh, “From who? Anyone I know?”

Ian just shrugged, now pointedly not looking at his brother.

“Or maybe the reason you didn’t tell me is because you were getting sucked off by a guy?” Lip said, turning serious. And moving so Ian couldn’t make a break for the door.

“What?” Ian asked, trying to hide the panic and fear that had crossed his face, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Cause I thought we told each other everything. And then I wake up this morning to realize you’re jerking off Mickey Milkovich in my room,” Lip replied, his irritation beginning to show.

“Don’t tell,” Ian half-pleaded, half-begged, “Please don’t tell. I don’t want Mickey to get hurt.”

“Ian,” Lip said, holding his hand out to stop the flow of Ian’s words, “I’m not going to tell anyone. Who do you think I am? I just want to know why the fuck you didn’t tell me.”

Ian bit his bottom lip, another habit he’d picked up from Mickey, except when Mickey did it he looked like he was thinking of which body part his was going to break first, whereas Ian just looked like a puppy who’s favorite toy had been taken away.

“I just didn’t know how to tell you,” Ian said, his voice small. “It’s not like I’m gonna walk around with a rainbow sticker slapped across my back in this neighborhood. I'd get knifed for sure. It’s just who I am. I like guys.”

“Well I figured that out when I saw you jerking off Mickey this morning. And by the way, don’t ever do that again when I’m in the room,” Lip warned.

Ian rolled his eyes but then he got serious. “You won’t tell right?”

“Jesus, yes Ian, I won’t tell. You can stop panicking now,” Lip snorted, taking another drag of his cigarette and reaching over to briefly ruffle his little brother’s hair. 

They smoked in silence for a little bit and then Lip asked the question that had been bugging him all day.

“But seriously, Mickey Milkovich?”

“Fuck you,” Ian laughed as he tried to kick his elder brother.

“I’m just saying, your taste sucks,” Lip proposed with a smile.

“Better than yours,” Ian replied, blowing smoke out of his nostrils just like Mickey always seemed to do.

“Like hell man,” Lip barked, a short laugh following his words.

They smoked for a little bit longer, their bedroom smelling like cheap cigarettes, dirty laundry and the odor of three, often four, boys. 

Then Ian said into the comfortable silence, “Hey Lip.” The older boy looked up. “Thanks.”

Lip nodded and that was that. They were cool…and apparently both had terrible taste in romantic partners. But, Lip couldn’t deny that Mickey made Ian happy. Happiest he’d ever seen him really, and for that, the older loud-mouth boy could stay. For now.


	10. The First Bargain

“Dude, your boss fucking sucks,” Mickey said, as he flung a rubber band at Ian’s head during lunch period.

“Kash isn’t that bad,” Ian said, rolling his eyes. He’d given up trying to read his history textbook about ten minutes ago. 

“He’s a fucking pussy. A pussy who pines after teenage dick,” Mickey pointed out, grabbing another rubber band from his pocket. He had snagged a handful of them from Ms. Schinder’s desk while Ian had been talking about summer school for additional credits or something nerdy like that. 

“It’s not like I’m fucking him,” Ian said, flinging the rubber band back to Mickey. He took a great amount of satisfaction when it thwacked the older boy right in-between the eyes. 

“No, but he wishes you were,” Mickey said, rubbing his forehead briefly while he scowled at his best friend. 

Ian just rolled his eyes again, not even bothering to give a response. The only person Ian was fucking was Mickey and Mickey knew that considering the only person he was fucking was Ian. So while the jealous boyfriend routine was kinda nice to see it was also completely unfounded. Something Ian felt the need to point out whenever Mickey got all huffy. 

“So my Dad’s getting out of jail this week,” Mickey said, testing the elasticity of one of the rubber bands. 

“Probation?” Ian asked, through a mouthful of his pb&j sandwich.

“Yup. Anyway we’re having a Welcome Home party for him this weekend. Free booze if you want to stop by,” Mickey said, swiping the other half of Ian’s sandwich.

“Sure,” Ian said, “I’ll come by after work.”

Mickey just rolled his eyes.

“Hey, someone’s gotta make an honest living in this shit hole,” Ian said, reaching out to flick Mickey in the chest.

“Honest? You?” Mickey questioned with a laugh, “Dude, you scam more people than me.”

“Fuck off, I do not,” Ian replied as he dug out his chemistry notes from his backpack. “That’s Lip’s territory.”

“Whatever man, I’m not the one who stole a water heater from a wake,” Mickey pointed out.

Ian just looked a Mickey, “You helped with that.”

“Wasn’t my idea,” the older boy replied.

“It’s never your idea,” Ian half-laughed, half-grumbled. The he shoved his notebook at Mickey and said, “Here, quiz me.”

Mickey just gave Ian a look before sighing and picking up the notebook and skimming the page.

“What is this shit?” he asked.

“Chemistry, now quiz me. I think we’re due for a pop quiz,” Ian replied, obviously waiting for Mickey to commence his friendly duty of helping Ian study.

“All right,” Mickey said with a half-shrug of his shoulders, “What is a noble gas?”

“A noble gas is an element that has a full electron cloud and so does not bind with other elements,” Ian recited. 

“Correct,” Mickey said, flipping the notebook page over. His eyes skimmed the page as he said, “I don’t see why you gotta know this shit for the army.”

“Because I want to be an officer, we’ve been over this. Now quiz me,” Ian demanded, pinching Mickey’s leg.

“Yeah, yeah, hold your horses “Mr. I-Want-To-Be-Shot-First”,” Mickey grumbled, absentmindedly swatting at Ian’s hand. 

Ian just rolled his eyes before saying, “You know, if you actually came to class once in awhile I think you’d actually do pretty decent at this kind of stuff.”

“Fuck off man,” Mickey said, scoffing at the very idea that a Milkovich would excel in school.

“No, I’m serious,” Ian said as he thought about the idea more, “I’d bet you’d kick ass in math. You’re always explaining that shit to me better than the teachers do.”

“Fucking hell Ian, let it go,” Mickey said, tossing Ian’s notebook back at him.

“No, wait,” Ian said, scrambling to prevent Mickey from stomping off, “I’m not joking. I’ll do whatever you want if you’ll start to go to class. Or at least half of them.”

Mickey paused. “Anything?” he asked, as he took in what the implications of that meant.

Ian nodded knowing he was probably going to have his mouth full of dick most days after school then naught. But hey, it wasn’t like he wouldn’t be doing that anyway. 

Mickey looked around to make sure no one was listening before saying, his voice low, “Even fucking at the store?”

Ian sighed. He should have known that was coming. “Yes,” he said, giving in.

Mickey sported a huge grin as he leaned back against the wall, his hands behind his head. “Well then Gallagher,” he said, the smugness he felt infused in every word he said, “Looks like you got yourself a deal.”

“And you have to try,” Ian stipulated as he shoved his notebook in his backpack, “Or at least pretend to try.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Mickey said. But then he was grinning at Ian and the red head couldn’t help but smile back, blaming the cold air for the sudden redness of his cheeks. He nudged the older boy to stand when the shrill bell rang out across the courtyard. 

“Come on,” Ian said, a smile firmly tugging the corners of his lips up, “You’ve got class.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey replied good naturedly even as he stood up and followed Ian into the school building. And if anyone noticed they were both smiling a bit too much no one made mention of it.


	11. The First Arrival of Monica

Everyone but Frank and Debbie were over at the Gallagher house preparing to watch some nature show. No one cared where Frank was and Debbie was over at Shelia’s learning how to bake something or other. But Steve, Fiona’s new boyfriend and known car thief, and Mickey were filling in as warm bodies so it didn’t matter.

Everyone was jostling one another as they got into position on the couch, the chairs and the floor in-front of the tv.

“Hey Mickey, could you get me a gun?” Carl asked with excitement as he plopped down on the couch.

“Not until middle school,” Mickey said with a laugh, as he took a beer from Ian.

“No,” Fiona interjected, “No guns. Not now, not ever.” And she grabbed a handful of popcorn before passing the bowl to Steve. 

“Yeah Mickey, stop trying to contribute to the delinquency of a minor,” Lip snarked with an open grin.

“Bite me,” Mickey shot back.

“Who has the pretzels?” Ian asked as he flung himself down in the worn recliner. 

Lip wordlessly passed the bowl over that Ian could grab a few before plopping it into Carl’s lap.

Then Debbie was standing on the threshold of the living room looking like she’d just seen a ghost.

“Debbie?” Fiona asked.

“What’s a matter?” Lip asked as well, “Did Frank have one to many again?”

“You just gotta ignore him when he gets like that Debs,” Ian added and Mickey nodded his head in assent. 

“Why is that whenever something happens you always blame Dad first?” Debbie asked, not really expecting a real answer.

“Well who else is there?” Fiona asked with a strained laugh.

Debbie was quiet for a few moments and the said, like the words pained her to admit, “Monica’s back.” And then she was off and running up to her room.

Everyone got quiet real fast after that bombshell. The television, once nearly mute now filled up the room with its grating cheery jingles, as everyone seemed to retreat into themselves.

“Who’s Monica?” Steve asked and Mickey looked ready to deck him.

“Our mother,” Lip said, as if he couldn’t quite believe the horrible finality of that statement either. 

There was a pause and then Ian was up and grabbing his coat. “I gotta go,” he said, nearly an afterthought as he made his way for the door. Mickey was only a half a step behind even as Fiona called out for Ian to come back.

Ian was off and running, he had no direction but Mickey kept pace with him easily. It was almost like they were in Little League again, before Mickey had been tossed out, just running through the South Side, two boys pretending they had no cares in the world. Maybe that’s why they ended up on field where they first began their friendship. Ian dropping to his knees on the frozen grass as he tried to catch his breath. 

Mickey stood there, his hands resting on his knees for a moment, before he stood up again, watching as his best friend seemed to be chocking on more than just air. He knew how fucked up Ian’s whole relationship with his parents where, how Frank saw Monica the most in Ian, how Monica favored Ian when she was actually around. Which just made it all the worse when she took off again. Because she always took off no matter how many promises she made to the contrary. 

“Come on,” Mickey said still a little out of breathe as he tugged on Ian’s coat.

“Where are we going?” Ian asked even as he followed the older boy.

“To get my gun. You need to shoot something and then to fuck,” Mickey prescribed. 

“I have work in an hour,” Ian pointed out, but it was more because he was supposed to more than any actual desire to go in. 

“Take a fucking personal day,” Mickey said and that was the last they said on the subject.

They grabbed Mickey’s gun from his house and made it to the abandoned building they had found a few years ago in record time. Mickey grabbed a few rusting cans and put them along the ledge of a crumbling wall and then handed over his gun to the red head. Ian took the weapon without a word and then just fired round after round at the make-shift targets.

Mickey didn’t say anything, just let the younger boy put all of his rage and anger and fear and hurt into round after round. When the bullets ran out Ian had turned to Mickey, dropped the gun, and reached for the older boy. While Mickey normally would have been annoyed at the handling of his gun in that moment he could care less. He undid his pants, uncaring of the cold bite of the Chicago winter, and turned to brace himself against one of the walls. Ian was inside of him in less than a minute.

It was rough and brutal and full of things neither of the boys could say. Their lives were not made up of words but of action and either the presence or lack thereof of certain individuals. They became lost in one another, neither boy saying anything as they moved together, just letting themselves become wrapped up in one of the few good things in their lives. 

And if Mickey felt the drip of hot tears on his back he said nothing.


	12. The First Arrest

“Wait,” Mickey said as jimmied open the out-of-order bathroom in the school’s basement, “so Frank’s not your dad?”

“Apparently,” Ian said, his expression glum and yet somehow vindictive at the same time.  


“Then who the fuck is?” the older boy asked as the locked door gave way under his lock picking ministrations. He nodded his head toward the open door with a grin, obviously impressed with himself.

Ian gave a small smile before heading into the cramped bathroom and said, “Apparently one of Frank’s brothers. Lip wants to try and hunt the guy down, see what he’s like. I think he’s just mad he’s not Frank’s kid.”

“So you gettin’ out of the South Side?” Mickey asked trying to be flippant so as not to show his panic at that thought. Ian could leave. If he left then Mickey….well he didn’t know what he'd do but it wouldn’t be good. 

Ian’s face became carefully blank as he reached for Mickey’s belt buckle. “No more talking,” he whispered close to the older boy’s mouth, a hair’s breath away from a kiss, before hitting his knees and swallowing the other boy’s dick. Any words Mickey might have said died and were reborn as groans of pleasure as the red head sucked him off. The older boy ran his hands through the younger boy's red locks and enjoyed the feel of it beneath his hands as he closed his eyes and enjoyed himself. 

After they'd fooled around, Ian’s hair was completely messed up and he looked far too pleased with himself. “You coming over this weekend?” he asked.

“Na man, can’t. Dad wants me to do a run,” Mickey said as he smoked his traditional post-coitus cigarette. 

“Thought Tony was supposed to do it this time,” Ian remarked as he took a drag off the cigarette that Mickey held steady for him. He let the smoke slowly escape his mouth as he pulled his pants back into place.

“Got arrested yesterday for a B&E, he’ll be out of commission for awhile. And Iggy’s probation officer is riding him harder than a Russian whore so it’s just me,” Mickey said with a shrug. “Besides I haven’t done one since summer.”

“Just as well,” Ian said with a sigh, closing his eyes as he let his head fall back to rest against the wall, “I’ll be hunting down Daddy Dearest anyway.”

Mickey just smoked the rest of his cigarette as he looked at this boy he found himself becoming more and more attached to as the days passed. Ian’s eyes were half closed but it was still hard at times for Mickey to reconcile the best fuck of his life also was the most innocent looking fucker that he knew of. It was why Gallagher could get away with so much shit, damn puppy face had everyone fooled. Well, almost everyone. Mickey knew about the rage that lurked beneath the freckles and red hair but he didn’t really care. If you grew up in this neighborhood and didn’t have anger issues then you should be worried. Sometimes Mickey felt things deep inside, right where his spine ran up into his rib cage, and he tried not think of what it meant. Those deep pangs that seemed to be a result of his best friend. Best not to think about it.

“So got that math test back today,” Mickey said, scratching his neck to try and hide his nerves.

Ian’s eyes snapped open. “So how’d you do?” he asked, eager and hopeful in a way Mickey would never understand.

Instead of answering Mickey just pulled a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans and handed it to Ian. He tried not to show how much he cared what Ian thought about this and he definitely didn’t want to think about why it mattered what Ian thought.

The younger boy unfolded the paper and just looked at it for a minute. Then his face was splitting into one of the largest grins Mickey had ever seen. “You got a B-,” Ian said, pride radiating off of him. “You got a motherfucking B-,” and he was yelling and then he was hugging Mickey in a tight grasp.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your dick out of joint,” Mickey said but without any bite. He allowed himself one moment, just one, where he hugged Ian back before he pushed the boy away. And he had no shame as he asked, “So about we talked about…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ian said, his grin still in place even as he rolled his eyes. Mickey just smirked as he took the test back from Ian and carefully folded it up again before putting it in his back pocket. It was the first test Mickey had scored higher than a C on since the fifth grade and Ian couldn’t stop grinning. Even when Mickey cuffed him on the back of the head and told him stop looking like such a fag at they made their way to the ground floor. But Mickey hadn’t made it hurt so Ian knew he was just as happy.

_______

Ian hadn’t expected to see Mickey all weekend, what with him participating in his family’s illegal activities and Ian getting dragged along on this quest for the new dad thing. He certainly had not expected to see Mickey getting hauled into the police station in handcuffs while Ian was handcuffed to a bench beside his older brother. 

“Mickey, what the fuck did you do?” he yelled as the dark haired boy jostled one of the police men dragging him along.

“I didn’t do nothing,” he shouted back.

“Really? Tell that to your face,” Ian said, noticing the large dark bruise forming on the dirty boy’s eyes and cheek. His lip was split as well and still bleeding. Mickey just gave a feral grin in reply as he was dragged off to sign some paperwork. Within a half hour he was handcuff to the bench opposite of the Gallagher brothers.

“So what the fuck you to do?” Mickey asked as he shifted his shoulders around.

“Got caught driving a stolen car,” Ian said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“What, you boosting cars now Lip?” Mickey asked with a small laugh. He doubted the older Gallagher boy would have the balls.

“Fuck off Mickey. What did you do? Get in a fight with a brick wall?” Lip asked.

“More like a strung out ass wipe who thought it’d be a good idea to take a swipe at my dad,” Mickey said, “But I taught him real quick what a bad idea that was.”

“What, Terry’s letting you fight his battles for him now?” Lip said, always with air of mocking beneath his words.

“Shut up,” Ian said, nudging his brother’s shoulder. 

“What about you? Find Daddy Warbucks?” Mickey asked, looking between Ian and Lip.

“Dude, you told him?” Lip asked in disbelief.

“Of course I told him,” Ian said, like it was even a question. 

Mickey kicked Ian to get his attention. Ian kicked back while asking, “Did you just kick me?”

Somehow it just dissolved into them having a full out kicking war while they were handcuffed to benches in the police station. Lip just sat there looking at his brother like he was an idiot. One of the sergeants finally came over and stepped in-between the boys.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Sergeant Jones asked, a slender black man barely in his thirties, “You got beef with this kid?” He asked Mickey, his tone angry.

Ian piped up, his puppy eyes in full force, “He’s my best friend.”

The Sergeant just rolled his eyes and muttered, “Lord, save me from hood friendships.” Then he turned back to the boys and said, “If I catch you doing that again I will not only separate you two but I will ensure you are charged with disturbing the peace and resisting your arresting officer.” They he headed back to his desk with an angry grunt.

“Fucking Gallaghers,” Mickey said under his breath.

“How was that our fault? You kicked me,” Ian protested.

“Because it’s always your fault,” Mickey pointed out.

“Bull shit,” Ian said, rolling his eyes.

“It is,” Mickey asserted.

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“All right,” the loud voice of Detective Smith rang out, breaking up the childish argument, “If you two love birds are finished, Milkovich you’ve got some paper work to fill out. Seems the guy you beat the shit out of is saying you did it purely out of self-defense. You’re free to go,” he said as one of the police officers undid Mickey’s handcuffs.

The older boy shrugged his coat back into place and made sure to lightly kick Ian on the way out as he said, “Later shit heads.”

Lip just looked at Ian and the younger boy could feel the judgment of where he choose to stick his dick. Not like Lip had any room to judge. 

“So,” the Detective said, as he sat down where Mickey had previously had sat, “Gallaghers.”

It was all downhill from there. 

_____

 

Thankfully Fiona had managed to do something, it was Fiona she always had her kids’ backs, and Lip and Ian were let out. Lip would have to do some community service but Ian wouldn’t have anything on his record. Nothing that would keep him out of the armed services. He was surprised to see that along with the Gallagher clan plus Vee, Mickey was waiting for them when they exited the station. He hung back until the initial family hugs and hits were done before he approached the younger boy.

“Congrats,” Mickey said, as he reached out and jostled Ian’s hair, “Looks that you’re a real South Side shit after all.”

And Ian just laughed.


	13. The Second Secret

It was summer and things were starting to feel like they were smoothing out. Monica had left and, thankfully, had not taken Liam with her. Steve was MIA but the only ones who really missed him were Fiona and maybe Debbie. Mickey had managed to avoid summer school which had left the school administration scratching their heads and being mildly impressed. One of the teachers, Ms. Findly, who taught math, had pulled Mickey aside and said it was good thing he was sticking to such a good influence like Ian Gallagher. It took everything Mickey had not to say that, yeah, getting your dick sucked daily does do wonders for attendance. 

But Ms. Findly was cool since she let Mickey get away with turning his homework in on the sly and taking his tests after school when he was supposed to be in “detention.” She understood he had a reputation to maintain. Just because Gallagher was a good little soldier and jumped in line for school didn’t mean Mickey wanted to look like he was doing the same. Especially not when he had collections to make. 

Speaking of Ian Gallagher, seemed he had finally hit that growth spurt, and Mickey could appreciate the results. The puppy face was beginning to fade but those damn eyes could still pull the look off. He was taller than Mickey now, only by an inch or so but he was still growing. And he’d been working out extra hard in an attempt to boost his physical scores in ROTC so now his muscles were clearly defined on his frame. Mickey would be lying if he said he didn’t like to touch or take advantage of this transformation in his best friend. 

He’d headed over to the Gallagher’s to hang out and walked right in the middle of sight he didn’t normally see: Lip and Ian fighting. Sort of. It looked like the fight had died down but Mickey got a glimpse of the shiny folder in Lip’s hand and quickly made the connection.

“So you finally told him?” he asked Ian casually, as he plopped down on Ian’s bed and made himself comfortable.

“Wait, how the fuck do you know about this?” Lip asked, some of his residual anger surfacing. 

“He told me of course,” Mickey said, like it was the obvious answer, “Ever since eighth grade ickle-Ian here has wanted to get shot at and die for this shit country. Isn’t that right?”

“Fuck off Mickey. You’re not helping,” Ian said, as he pulled a shirt on. And my, did Mickey hate to see those abs go and get covered.

“I was just answering the question,” Mickey protested but he had his shit eating grin on.

Ian just shot Mickey as look as Lip said, “So what you’re saying is that Mickey knew about this all along before any of your family. What? Where you going to just piss off to some --stan somewhere and let Mickey tell us?”

“It’s not like that Lip,” Ian began, throwing his wet towel at Mickey.

“Really? Cause that’s exactly what it looks like,” Lip replied, tossing the folder down on Ian’s desk.

“I just didn’t know how to tell you,” Ian said, pushing Mickey’s legs out of the way as he sat down on his bed and began putting his socks and shoes on.

“Fucking hell,” Lip said, letting out a gust of air. 

“Don’t be such a drama queen,” Mickey piped up, rolling his eyes at Lip’s dramatics. 

Lip looked like he was debating whether he should Mickey or not before deciding not to. He turned to Ian and said, “The offer still stands, I’ll help you, but I still think it’s fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ian half-muttered as finished tying his shoes and stood up. He gestured for Mickey to follow as he left the room. He didn’t notice as Mickey shout Lip as smug look as he left, driving home the fact that Mickey had known, seemed to always know, more secrets about Ian then his family.

Lip picked up a dented football that was lying on the floor and hurled it at the spot on Ian’s bed where Mickey had been sitting. 

____

“So Lip thinks you’re an idiot too,” Mickey said, trying to act all casual as they walked with no real destination in mind.

“So what else is new?” Ian asked, not expecting an answer as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I’m just saying, if I think you’re dumb for wanting to join the service and Lip, the smartest kid this side of the Chicago River, also thinks that, I think you should reconsider is all I'm saying,” Mickey said, flippant as could be.

“We’re not discussing this again,” Ian said, shaking his head.

“Because you know I’m right. I get it,” Mickey said with a nod.

“Because I’m still going to do it. You know why. Why you gotta shit on this man?” Ian asked, his wounded puppy expression coming out.

“Fuck Gallagher,” Mickey said with a huffy sigh, taking a moment before rushing out, “Maybe cause I don’t want you getting shot because of some stupid government bullshit.” 

“Just,” Ian began, then stopped walking and looked at the older boy. Then he said with a great deal of solemnity, “Just let me have this all right. This one thing. Let me have it.”

Mickey looked into Ian’s imploring eyes and wished he could stop himself from giving in. Instead he just sighed and shrugged his shoulders, “All right man. This is your thing. Your fucking thing.”

“Good,” Ian said.

“Fine,” Mickey replied.

“Fantastic,” Ian countered then nudged Mickey’s shoulder with his own. 

Mickey responded by nudging back and soon it dissolved into a full out shoving/running war. The boys gave chase to one another through the dirty streets of the South Side and under the rust covered tracks of the L. Who knew what the future might hold, for either of them. But until then they were just two boys who lived life with a laugh on their lips and a shared secret in their hearts.


	14. The Second Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have no clue about video games so please allow your suspension of disbelief in regards to that area of the chapter.

Ian and Mickey sat on the Gallagher’s worn couch and attempted to beat the other in some version of a Call of Duty like game. Ian claimed it was helping him learn military tactics, which caused Mickey to roll his eyes and call Ian out on his bullshit. Kid just liked to shoot things just like Mickey did. Not need to lie about it or dress it up. No South Side kid ever had to justify picking up a gun and aiming it. 

Currently Mickey and Ian were neck and neck for winning the level and there was the added incentive that the loser would owe the winner a favor. They were into it, yelling at the television, and smack talking each other as they tried to one up the other person. It was all said in good fun and every insult was met with a laugh and an attempt to come up with a better comeback. 

Ian was close to victory when all of a sudden, without any warning, Mickey leaned over and kissed him. The red head went still and his controller dropped from his fingers and hit the stained carpet of the living room floor. Mickey pulled away with a grin and then turned back to score the final winning point on the round. He laughed as his victory was splayed out clearly on the screen for all to see. 

Ian was in shock. His lips still tingled and he couldn’t stop the grin from forming on his face. It was the dazed kind of grin that only ever happened after Mickey did something so completely unexpected and yet so welcome. He turned and looked at Mickey who was being a smug idiot. He didn’t even care that Mickey had used such a dirty tactic to win. Screw the game, Ian had just won at life. 

Then he pushed Mickey’s controller out of the older boy’s hands and covered his mouth with his own before he could even get out the words, “What the fuck?” Mickey quickly gave in, one hand going to grab a fist full of Ian’s hair to pull him closer and the other clutching the younger boy’s side. Ian held on to Mickey’s face as he pushed the older boy down into the couch, never letting their mouths part.

They lay on the sagging couch, their mouths firmly locked together, as they refused to let go of one another. It was both hurried and slow, neither boy attempting to go further than a kiss, and yet they kissed as though this was their last day on earth to do so. In the South Side it very well might be. Ian knew, just knew, that now that he had this he wasn’t going to give it up. Not for anything or anyone. Mickey was his just as Ian was Mickey’s. It’d been that way since that day Mickey had pissed on first base in Little League.

The whole world could go to shit and Ian wouldn’t care, not right now, because he had the one thing he’d been wanting ever since he learned the truth about Mickey. That Mickey was just like him. And Ian would gladly set the world aflame in that moment if the world would just leave him and Mickey alone. But of course the world didn’t work like that.

They heard Carl and Debbie a few moments before they entered the house through the kitchen. It was just enough time for the boys to separate and put themselves in some semblance of order. They were both flushed but they could blame it on the summer heat if pressed as they sat, sweating, next to each other. Ian handed Mickey his controller and made a half-hearted attempted to press some buttons in a facade of playing the game. Mickey wasn’t fairing much better.

They didn’t say anything, but then Mickey was looking at Ian out of the corner of his eye and Ian was trying to pretend he wasn’t doing the same. Ian couldn’t keep the grin off his face if he tried and Mickey was acting like he wasn’t smiling even though his swollen lips betrayed him. Ian nudged Mickey’s knee with his own, and Mickey nudged back. And then they just let their knees rest against each other, neither choosing to move away from the other.

And in the secret, hidden parts of Ian’s heart a few of those deeper feelings surfaced and grew.


	15. The Second Return

“Mickey, what have I said about guns at the table?” Fiona asked with a huff as she threw some clothes into the washer.

“Chill. I’m just cleaning it. No bullets,” Mickey said, holding out the gun with the empty barrel to show the older woman before going back to cleaning the piece of deadly metal. 

She looked like she was going to say something else but then Debbie was yelling for Fiona from the front porch so she just chose to go with, “Don’t let Carl touch it.”

“Not stupid,” Mickey replied, not even looking at what was causing the commotion. There was always something going on at the Gallagher house, Mickey had just sort of learned to go with it and ignore it. Fiona just shot him a look as she made her way to the front of the house.

Mickey went back to making sure his weapon was clean and in working order, ignoring the muffled explanations and shock that were happening at the other end of the house. Ian had work today and Kash was there so it wasn’t like they could just close up and fuck like they did when Ian worked on his own. Linda seemed cool with it that Ian would close the store for his “break” or at least she just seemed to blame Kash. It was always Kash's fault. So Mickey was stuck on his own with a house full of kids and Gallaghers, unless he wanted to head home and do a run.

“Now I have to use the toilet. Debbie, help me up the stairs. Carl, get me a crowbar,” an older heavyset woman with a barbed wire tattoo around her neck ordered as she lumbered up the front stairs.

As Carl moved to dart past Mickey to dig into the van for the requested item Mickey grabbed the younger boy by the shirt front. “Who’s the old broad?” the dark haired boy asked, nodding his head to the stairs.

“Our Grandma,” Carl said with a shrug of his skinny shoulders, like he didn’t know if he was supposed to care.

“Didn’t she kill some people?” Mickey asked, amazed the system had let her out.

“Medical furlough,” Debbie said as she came down the stairs and grabbed some duck-tape before heading back up the stairs. 

“Hey, is that your gun?” Carl asked, getting the half-crazed grin on his face.

Mickey cuffed the back of the younger boy’s head. “No touching.”

“Aww, come on. You let Ian use your gun,” Carl whined. 

“Graduate from the fifth grade then we’ll talk,” Mickey replied before pushing the disappointed young boy towards the back door. 

“Mickey,” Fiona yelled from upstairs.

“What?” Mickey yelled back, wiping down the last bits of his gun. He didn’t even bother to look up when Fiona’s head popped into the stairwell.

“Can you go tell Ian that Grammy’s here? Oh and tell him to pick up some Depends on his way home from work,” Fiona said, her head disappearing back upstairs.

“You’re joking right?” Mickey said, looking up at the mention of adult diapers.

“Move it Milkovich,” Fiona ordered, her head popping back into the stairwell to glare at the younger boy and Mickey put his hands up in mock surrender. But he did stand to do as she asked, making sure to tuck his gun into the back of his pants before he left.

“Oh, Mr. Milkovich,” Ethel called from the porch where she sat with her son and Malik and his daughter. 

“Yeah,” Mickey said, unsure of how to handle this girl.

“Mr. Kevin said you where the one to get him his special seeds. I just wanted to let you know that they are growing beautifully,” Ethel said, completely sweet and open. Her vulnerability, even after all that had happened to her, made Mickey want to back away slowly.

“Sure kid. Thanks,” Mickey said, as gently as he could manage, before waving as he left the yard, heading towards the Kash-and-Grab. 

By the time Mickey had gotten to the store he was sweating and hoping Kash had decided to fuck off somewhere.

“Mickey?” Ian asked, looking up from his book as he read at the counter, as the dark haired boy walked into the store.

“’Sup, Gallagher. Got a message for you,” Mickey said, coming to lean on the counter. “Apparently Grandma Gallagher’s back in town and crashing at your place.”

“That a joke?” Ian asked with an open smile.

“Nope,” Mickey replied with a laugh as Ian’s smile faded into an expression of confusion. “Medical furlough apparently, according to Debs.”

“Well shit,” Ian muttered, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah, so Fiona wants you to pick up some Depends on the way home,” Mickey said.

“You’re fucking joking, right?” Ian asked.

“Nope,” Mickey replied, popping the p with pleasure.

“Why don’t you do it? You’re already out of the house,” Ian said, gesturing towards Mickey.

“She’s not my grandmother,” Mickey reasoned.

“Might as well be,” Ian shot back.

“Dude, do I look like I have a shit head named Frank for a father? No? Then Grammy’s not my damn grandma,” Mickey concluded. 

Ian just rolled his eyes in response.

“So, uh, where’s towel head?” Mickey asked, looking around and noticing a distinct lack of the shrinking violet of an owner lurking in the corner of the store. 

“Took the twins out to some scouting event. Linda’s at the woman’s group down at the mosque,” Ian said with a smirk, already standing up.

“Well then what the fuck are we waiting for?” Mickey asked as he headed toward the backroom as Ian locked the front door.

Ian just reached out and kissed Mickey while the older boy’s hand lifted his shirt and felt his stomach and back. The red head reached for the dark haired boy’s belt buckle and pulled him into the backroom. Ian grinned into Mickey’s mouth as he palmed the other boy’s dick. Mickey bit Ian’s lip, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to elicit a small whimper, and Mickey grinned into Ian’s mouth too. A smile that spoke more about the heart then the dark head boy would ever say.


	16. The Second Rejection

When Mickey got to his house he had not expected his brother, Iggy, to point to the basement and say, “Take care of it.”

“What you fuckheads do this time?” Mickey asked, beginning to get pissed.

“Nothin’” Tony protested apathetically from his spot on the couch, “But your Gallagher buddy’s been down there for over an hour now.”

“What?” Mickey asked not looking for a reply as he headed down into the dimly lit basement. He heard Gallagher long before he saw him. He could hear the shifting of rusting chains squeak and the sound of flesh hitting the stolen punching bag that Iggy had rigged up in the basement years ago. No one really used it that much, preferring to hit actual people, but it didn’t surprise him to find Gallagher had taken a shine to it. 

The one, dim bulb that hung in the far corner of the room cast shadows that were dark and long. The ones surrounding Ian seem to dance with each jab and feint as the younger boy pounded the sand bag like it had personally offended him. With his red hair and pale skin it made the boy look like he’d stepped out of some type of nightmare. Who’s, Mickey wasn’t quite sure.

Mickey sat on a half rotting chair and watched Ian attack the punching bag for a few more minutes. The only sounds that filled the dusty room were Ian’s grunts and the creaking chains. Then Ian spoke up, not even looking at Mickey, as he continued to attack the sand bag. “You know that war hero guy Lip was talking too?”

Mickey nodded, but it didn’t matter, Ian continued anyway. “Well apparently he does want a Gallagher to go to West Point. Just not this Gallagher. It’s always got to be Lip. He said they need smart people like him.” Each sentence was punctuated by a harsher hit then the one before. 

“Wrote a letter of recommendation for him and everything. Not that Lip cares. Says he was trying to get the letter for me. Which is such bullshit,” Ian said, hitting another harsh hit and then stopping. He held onto the swinging punching bag, a strange half hug, as the sweat ran into his eyes. “It’s all such bullshit,” he said quietly, his breathing forced and uneven.

The basement descended into silence again and Mickey did not move, his hand clenched on his knees as he watched the younger boy. A few minutes passed and then Ian looked at Mickey, gave him a small smile, and said in a voice like a lost child's, “I’m never gonna be good enough, am I?”

Mickey was up in a flash and grabbed Ian’s shoulders. “Don’t say that,” he said, his own anger coming out, “Don’t you ever fucking say that.”

Ian nodded but it wasn’t in confirmation. Mickey’s hands dug into Ian’s flesh as he tried to explain, if only in the smallest way, what he knew. “You’re gonna get out of this shit neighborhood. You, Ian fucking Gallagher. Not Lip, not me, not anyone else is gonna do what you’re gonna do. You’re,” and Mickey stopped, the words getting jumbled and caught in his throat and refused to come out. He tried to speak, to tell Ian that he was worth more than anyone on the South Side, in this whole damn city. That he was going to actually make it, somehow, and no one was going to stop him, not even himself. But he couldn’t find the words.

But Mickey didn’t need to because Ian was nodding again, and he brought up his tapped hand to wipe at his eyes, trying to hide his sniffling. Mickey didn’t say anything about the few tears that escape, pretended they were just drops of sweat. Ian reached up and clutched one of the hands on his shoulders, before biting his lip and taking a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, before giving a final nod. 

Mickey nodded in return before slowly letting Ian go. And he feared, as he always feared, that he would always be letting his Gallagher go.


	17. The Second Scare

Ian lay on Mickey’s bed, looking at the cracked ceiling, while the older boy fiddled with a radio. “Grammy’s dead and Monica’s back,” Ian said, inhaling deeply from the blunt, letting the smoke burn the back of his throat before he released a cloud of smoke, and sighed, saying, “Everything’s fucked up.”

“So what else is new?” Mickey asked, fiddling with wires that connected the sound. 

“It’s just so fucked up,” Ian said with a laugh as he took another drag before offering the blunt to Mickey. Mickey took a quick hit before passing it back to the much more stoned boy.

Mickey paused in his fiddling and looked at Ian and asked, “You gonna cry?”

“Fuck you,” Ian said with a short laugh.

“I’m just asking,” Mickey said with a smile, “cause if you’re gonna turn on the waterworks figure I should lay down a tarp or some shit.”

“Asshole,” Ian said laughing, swing his leg up to lightly kick Mickey before falling back into place, looking at the ceiling. 

They sat in comfortable silence for awhile, Mickey occasionally cursing when the radio’s inner working didn’t function like he intended, and Ian laughing sometimes for no real reason. Then Ian had to go and talk about shit that was best left alone.

“You think the baby’s Lip’s?” Ian asked, putting his hand over his heart as his glassy eyes traced some pathway on the ceiling that only he could see.

“Who knows,” Mickey replied, “Could be anyone’s. Hell, it could be your dad’s for all we know.”

“Don’t want another sibling,” Ian casually observed.

“Who fucking does?” Mickey asked, not even looking up from the wires in his hands. Just then Mandy burst into Mickey’s room, obviously irritated about something. “What the fuck do you want?” Mickey snapped.

“Fuck off dickwad,” Mandy threw back before crawling to lie next to Ian. Without a word he passed her the blunt. She inhaled gratefully and ignored the irritated glare her brother was throwing at her as she cuddled into Ian’s side. The red head could feel Mandy begin to shake and he held her tighter as she continued to smoke the blunt, refusing to cry.

“Who’s ass am I kicking?” Mickey asked, gruff and trying not to show how concerned he was.

Mandy just shook her head and pressed herself closer to the tall boy. After she’d smoked the last of the blunt she didn’t reply to Mickey but instead said, “Ian, do you remember when you told me that stupid story about the guy who took twenty years to get home? And how he got stuck in some giant’s cave with all those fucking sheep? Then he had to blind the giant to get out by pretending to be a sheep? And when the other giants asked who did that to him he just fucking replied “No one?” I used to think he was so fucking stupid. The giant clearly knew who’d hurt him but he couldn’t say it, couldn’t really name the guy even though he knew what he’d done. So fucking stupid that he didn’t know what to say. So stupid,” and Mandy’s voice faded away and she clung to Ian, refusing to let him go. 

“Someone hurt you?” Ian asked softly, even as Mandy buried her head into Ian’s chest.

“Weren’t you listening?” She asked with a decrepitating laugh, “No one hurt me.” Then she was crying and Mickey looked utterly lost as Ian just held the weeping girl. “Fucking no one.”

“What did no one do?” Ian finally asked, as he rubbed Mandy’s back.

“I’m pregnant,” she said laughing with a hysterical edge, fighting to breathe in air. 

Mickey was on his feet in an instant, looking like he needed to rip someone’s head off, anger radiating from every muscle. His radio lay gutted on the floor. Ian took a calmer approach and just asked her gently, “Do you want to be pregnant?”

Mandy’s face suddenly became vulnerable as she looked at Ian before shaking her head and saying in a small voice, “Not like this.” 

“Then we’ll take care of it,” Ian replied, tucking Mandy’s head under his chin, giving her all the comfort he could, while sending a warning look at Mickey. But Mickey just nodded, grabbed his gun from the bedside table, and asked in a dead serious voice, “How much do you need?”

“Six hundred,” Mandy whispered, a flicker of hope coming to her face. 

“Then we’ll get you the money,” Mickey said, with finality in his tone. Then he said to Ian, “Stay here.”

Ian’s face spoke his protest at the order but he just said, “Ok.”

Mickey marched out of the house, determined to make up the additional two hundred that would be put with the four hundred Mickey had stashed away. He hadn’t made his collections for this week, time to collect early. The knowledge that he’d be kicking at least one junkie’s ass was just an added benefit to the enraged Milkovich. 

No one had hurt his baby sister, which meant someone had to pay.


	18. The Second Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving was always a crapshoot in the South Side. Someone was going to get stabbed, that was a given, and who knew if the food bank would have enough crappy canned dinners to give out to all the starving kids. Mickey and Mandy usually just stole a turkey from one of the big box stores and got high while everyone else just fucked off to God knows where. 

When Mickey had stopped by the Gallagher house he had not expected to find it empty. He also had not expected the pools of blood in the kitchen that were dark and threatening. It'd taken him a minute to find his breath again as he tried not to think of if it was Ian’s blood. To take his mind off of it, off of all those terrible thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him, he grabbed the paper towels and the bleach and went about cleaning up the pools of red. 

The cleaning was good. He knew how to do that. Make it seem like nothing had ever happened. He made sure to soak the knife extra-long before tucking it into the back of the drawer. No one had asked him to do this but he did it anyway. Dried blood would leave stains the Gallaghers would rather forget about. 

When he was finished cleaning the blood off the floor and cabinets, he shoved what food he could into the fridge. Then he sat on the stairs and waited. He wasn’t used to waiting, not like this, waiting for the verdict of life or death to be handed down. He smoked his whole pack of cigarettes sitting on those stairs, his knees jumping and his hands twitching as he kept glancing between the back and front doors. 

Finally, fucking finally, the Gallagher clan sans Monica and Lip were back. Mickey could give two shits about them right now as he sought Ian amidst the familial crowd. The dark haired boy was up and standing in front of the red head, visually inspecting him for any wounds. Ian just shook his head when he saw what Mickey was doing. “It wasn’t me,” he explained. “It was Monica.”

Mickey swallowed and nodded, trying not to let the relief he was feeling overwhelm him and make him forget where he was. Then Ian tried to smile, but it seemed like such a broken mockery of the thing, that he sorta gave up half-way through the attempt. “Karen had the kid. It’s not Lip’s. Or Frank’s. Maybe Tommy Wong’s.”

“Well that’s good then,” Mickey said, ignoring how his voice shook just a bit, “One less Gallagher running around.”

“Yeah,” Ian said, his eyes as hollow as his grin, “One less Gallagher.”

Soon everyone was making their way too bed, far too quiet and withdrawn for any comfort to be taken in the mundane tasks of getting ready to go to sleep. Or at least pretend to sleep. Because, even though everyone was worn out, no one would be able to rest that night. Their minds filled with too much horror and violence and despair. The complete and utter despair that seemed to haunt the memories in this house. 

It didn’t take long for Carl to get up and go to Fiona’s room and Ian knew Debbie was already there. He might have followed if it weren’t for Mickey clinging to him like if he let go then Ian would disappear. In truth, Ian was grateful for the bite of Mickey’s fingers in his skin, grounding him. 

After Carl left though, Ian’s thoughts twisted in on themselves and replayed that horrible moment of attempted suicide over and over again. The blood and look of utter defeat on Monica’s face kept flashing before his eyes and Ian remember how he'd just stood there. How he'd felt so helpless. So small. And so very, very alone.

Then he couldn’t breathe and he could feel it coming, the inevitable storm, and he was powerless to stop it. He clutched Mickey as he began to sob and the older boy just held him. Just let Ian ride out whatever the fuck was going on in his heart and in his head. Mickey just held him tight and every breathe he took seemed to say, “I’m not leaving. I’m not going anywhere.”

Ian pushed his head into Mickey’s chest and focused on the older boy’s heart beat to try and block out the wretched sounds of his ragged, teary breathes. He listened with all his might to the sound of life. And he could feel Mickey’s breathing changed as he tried not to give in and cry with Ian. The red head didn’t care that Mickey wasn’t saying anything, he almost preferred it at times like this, because sometimes there is nothing to say. 

And Mickey held on because if Ian and he were going to drown, they would drown together.


	19. The Second Suprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I felt really bad about giving you guys so many sad chapters so this one maybe a little shorter but it is happier.

“So heard you and Ms. Findly talking,” Ian tried oh so casually to drop into conversation as Mickey walked with him to the store after school. Spring was beginning to make itself known and the boys had long since ditched their jackets.

“You’ve got to work on not being such a twelve year old girl,” Mickey said, pushing the strap of his backpack up on his shoulder. 

“Piss off, you know what I’m talking about,” Ian said with that expectant grin of his.

“Well if you were listening then there’s no need me for me to tell you anything,” Mickey replied.

“Aww, come on Mickey. Just say it,” Ian said, half-jumping on Mickey, “Come on, say it.”

“All right, all right already,” Mickey said, shoving Ian off of him. Before glancing at the other boy briefly and then stared straight ahead and said, very quickly, “Looks like I’m on track to graduate.”

“Yes,” Ian shouted, punching the air, “I knew you could do it. Didn’t I fucking tell you? Congrats man. This is great.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t have a heart attack over it,” Mickey muttered but he was grinning just a little bit. 

“Sooooo?” Ian asked, his grin threatening to split his face.

“So what?” Mickey asked back.

“So what else did she say? I know that can’t have been the only thing,” Ian said.

“Well since your spying skills suck I guess I’ll tell you. She just thought I might want to take some courses at Malcolm X. Maybe with engines or electrics or something,” Mickey said with a shrug of his shoulder.

“You’d be great at that,” Ian assured his best friend/boyfriend. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, all right?” Mickey replied, his words caring a slight warning, “I don’t know if I’m going to do it.”

“Of course you’re going to do it,” Ian said full of confidence, “Because if you don’t I will shoot you.” And he grinned in such an open manner it was almost like his words hadn’t happened.

“Like hell you will,” Mickey replied, shoving his shoulder into Ian’s. Damn kid had gone through another growth spurt and now had more muscle then he knew what to do with. 

“I could take you out,” Ian said.

“I’d rather you go down,” Mickey said with a grin and a raise of his eyebrows.

Ian just rolled his eyes. Some things never changed.


	20. The Third Song

High school graduate Mickey Milkovich just wanted to nap. That was all he wanted to do and he was fully prepared to nap the best nap that had ever been napped if Gallagher would just fucking let him sleep. So what if it was Gallagher’s bed? It was Mickey’s damn nap time. He’d been up half the night tracking Iggy down because he’d freaked out during a bad trip and nearly jumped off the roof of some building. Then Mandy had thrown some bitch fit which resulted in an argument that didn’t end until four in the fucking morning. Now all he wanted to do was sleep.

Except Ian had decided he would lie down next to him and proceeded to bug the shit out of the tired boy. First, he’d spooned Mickey from behind, lining his dick up against Mickey’s ass crack, and was holding him tight. Mickey allowed himself to enjoy it but he was far too tired to fuck, even though he was loath to admit it. Then he had to go and fucking start singing some stupid medley he’d just made up right into Mickey’s ear.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” Ian sang into Mickey’s ear, his voice wobbly and just a bit off key.

“Fuck off,” Mickey muttered, not even opening his eyes.

“You make me happy when skies are grey,” Ian continued, and Mickey could feel the kid’s fucking grin. Mickey just elbowed him and he thought, for just a brief moment, that Ian was going to shut up. No such luck.

“Oh please don’t take my sunshine away,” Ian sang softly with a little laugh, as he snuggled in closer to Mickey, his arms wrapped firmly around the older boy.

“Gallagher, come on,” Mickey muttered, pushing his face into the red head’s pillow, inhaling the scent that was unique to the gentle giant. 

“Hmm, how about a classic?” Ian asked, and without waiting for a reply, he began to sing, “And when I touch you,” and he slid his hand under Mickey’s shirt and ran his hand over each muscle, “I feel happy inside.”

“I gonna fucking kill you,” Mickey said, his breathing shallow. 

“It’s such a feeling—“ and then Ian’s words were halted because Mickey had rolled over and covered Ian’s mouth with his own. The kiss wasn’t very long but Ian still grinned like he’d just scored the winning touchdown. 

“Now I’m going to sleep,” Mickey explained, “and you’re going to shut the fuck up.” Then he rolled back over and nestled back into Ian’s embrace, covering one of Ian’s hands with his own. Ian just grinned and buried his head into the junction where Mickey’s shoulder met his neck and squeezed the older boy tight. 

And Mickey fell asleep with a grin on his lips and the off key melody of Ian’s voice playing in his dreams.


	21. The Third Getaway

“Dude, what the fuck’s in this thing?” Mickey asked as he grabbed the bag Ian had been running with.

“Some robot laser thing Lip and I stole from Chicago University,” Ian said, trying to regulating his breathing after sprinting from campus security and taking the back alley way home. 

“You’re shittin’ me right?” Mickey asked, disbelief clearly scrawled across his face.

Ian just shook his head as he gulped in more air, sweat dripping from his shorn red hair. “There’s some big robo competition. Grand prize is 400 dollars. Figure if we win we can put it towards the property tax,” Ian said, gesturing for Mickey to hand him back the bag. As they continued to walk Ian turned and asked, “Oh yeah, know a good bonds bail person?”

Mickey just rolled his eyes and brought out his cell phone of the week and began to dial a familiar number.

\----

“So just how smart are you?” Mandy asked curiously as Lip twisted some wires.

“Smarter than your brother,” he remarked with a half-smirk, an imitation of a smile.

“And yet he graduated before you,” Mandy couldn’t help but point out, as she sat on one of the outdated school desks.

“Which just goes to prove the inefficiency and inadequacy of our education system,” Lip replied, “If a deviant such as Mickey Milkovich, a kid I’m surprised hasn’t landed in federal prison let alone juvie, has been allowed to make it through the public education system unscathed it just goes to show that our entire premise for education is broken. Who’s to say what other delinquencies of the system have been unchecked?”

“So you’re saying it’s the system’s fault that you skipped school?” Mandy said with a smirk.

“Mandy, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in life,” Lip said, as he leaned in close and said in a mock whisper, “it is always the system’s fault.”

She gave a small laugh that was interrupted by Ian barreling into the classroom, slamming the door shut, and then crawling under the teacher’s desk all while yelling, “I’m not here. You don’t know me.”

Mandy and Lip just looked at each other as the red head disappeared from sight. Before they could even really processed what had happened Mr. Kipkey barreled into the room, huffing and sweating, as he tried to speak, out of breath, around his grey mustache, “Where is he? I know he’s in here.”

“Who, sir?” Lip asked with mock politeness, as he affected an innocent school boy pose. 

“Your brother,” the teacher snapped, completely irate, his beer belly heaving as he attempted to catch his breath fully. “I saw him come in here. He’s not getting away with this. Not this time.”

“Well, what did he do? Perhaps if I know the nature of his alleged crime I could better help you,” Lip said, still with that mocking air of innocence.

Mr. Kipkey shot Lip a look, letting him know exactly what he thought of his smart mouth, before saying, “He was engaging in lewd behavior that is an insult to this institution.”

“What? He have an orgy or something?” Mandy asked with a laugh, clearly uncaring of her friend’s supposed bad behavior.

“It is not your concern Ms. Milkovich,” Mr. Kipkey snapped, glaring at the two teenagers who were obviously going to refuse to be cooperative. Nonetheless, the middle-aged man tried again, “Where is the younger Mr. Gallagher?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Lip said, his tone so full of slippery mockery it was a wonder he didn’t slip and fall. 

“This isn’t over,” Mr. Kipkey insisted, pointing a finger in Lip’s face before turning to leave. Before he left though he turned to Mandy and said, “And Ms. Milkovich you may inform your brother that he is now banned from school premises.” And then he slammed the door as he walked away from the group of teens who would never respect him until years after he’d gone.

“You can come out now,” Lip called, as he went back to fiddling with the wires on his robot.

Ian slowly peeked his head up from behind the desk before standing up and running a hand through his hair. “Thanks guys,” he sighed, “that was close.”

“What did you two idiots do this time?” Mandy asked, boredom in her voice.

“You don’t want to know,” Ian said, taking a breath.

“Really?” Lip asked, “Because I did just lie to a school official for you.”

“Trust me,” Ian said, his voice insistent, “You don’t want to know.” And then he gave Lip a look that said more to the older boy than anyone else. Lip looked at his little brother and resisted the urge to groan as he realized Ian’s fly was half-done, his belt nowhere to be seen and his shirt inside out. 

“You couldn’t be more discreet?” Lip asked, shaking his head at his brother’s antics.

“Like you’re one to talk,” Ian replied. He then peeked his head out into the hallway for a brief moment. “Looks like the coast is clear. I gotta go get my backpack.” He then leaned over and gave Mandy a kiss on the cheek. “See you at the RoboRumple?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said with her special smile she reserved only for Ian. One that was pure happiness with no intent to seduce. It was a smile without armor.

“You picking up Carl from school today?” Lip asked before Ian was out the door.

“Yeah,” Ian said rolling his eyes, “Can’t wait to have his homeroom teacher hit on me.”

“Want me to slash her tires?” Mandy asked with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it,” Lip said, “I already messed with her pipes.”

Ian just gave a small wave as he walked out of the classroom and back to the broken, run down bathroom in the basement where Mickey and he had previously been engaged in one of their favorite activities. Until Mr. Kipkey had interrupted them during round two which had sent both boys running. Only Ian had left his backpack and now he had to retrieve it because the application form for West Point was in there, along with a few other things.

What Ian was not expecting was Mr. Kipkey to be hiding out in the shadows of the stalls when he arrived. 

“Jesus Christ,” Ian said in shock as Mr. Kipkey stepped out of the shadows like some grade B movie villain. The older man held onto Ian’s backpack and Ian had a distinct feeling he wasn’t going to be getting it back anytime soon.

“I’m not here to save you Mr. Gallagher,” Mr. Kipkey said, “but I am going to deliver a message. Why don’t you and I go and have this chat in my office?”

“Look,” Ian began, “I don’t know what you think you saw but—“

“Oh, I know exactly what I saw Mr. Gallagher,” Mr. Kipkey said, giving the teen a knowing look, “and I think it’s best we continue this conversation in a room with closed doors. Don’t you?”

Ian hesitated before nodding currently and swallowing back his smart aleck remark. 

“So,” Mr. Kipkey said, settling in to his chair behind his desk, “Mr. Gallgher. I never pegged you for swinging for the other team.”

Ian said nothing, just stared blank faced at the space of wall right above the educator’s head.

“Not that I care. I question your taste in romantic partners but that’s a conversation for another day,” Mr. Kipkey went on to explain, “But the fact of the matter Mr. Gallagher is that you were engaged in sexual activity on school premises. Now what shall we do about that?”

“Can’t you just give me detention or something?” Ian asked, his eyes darting toward the clock.

“I could do that,” Mr. Kipkey agreed, “But I won’t.”

“Why not?” the muscular teen couldn’t help but ask, wary of where this conversation was going.

“See, if I give you dentition then people are going to want to know what for. Fine, upstanding student like yourself doesn’t get dentition every day. Now, I could write something vague on the dentition slip but you and I both know how fast rumors spread in this place. How quickly do you think they’ll spread if there is even a hint of homosexual undertones to it? Or worse yet, what if the truth somehow managed to escape? Then you could quickly become the victim of a hate crime and I’d be called in to testify. And as much as I hate rule breaking, I hate court even more,” Mr. Kipkey said, with a smile that was supposed to be friendly but just missed the mark.

“So here’s what we’ll do,” Mr. Kipkey went on, “Next semester, after school, you come in and assist me in my office for a half hour every day.”

“Doing what?” Ian asked, still wary and tense.

“Filing papers, organizing folders, things like that,” Mr. Kipkey replied.

“And you won’t tell? About what you saw?” Ian said, making sure that they were on the same page.

“Saw what?” Mr. Kipkey said with a smile, folding his hands together. 

“See you next semester Mr. Kipkey,” Ian said as he rose from the uncomfortable chair plastic chair.

“Oh, and Mr. Gallagher,” Mr. Kipkey said, as he returned to the paperwork at his desk, “for the record, I do think you can do better.”

Ian rolled his eyes and left the office. What did that old fart know anyway? No one here knew Mickey. Not like Ian did at least. Everyone just saw a guy who would get into fights and break into your house if you insulted the memory of his mother. But Ian knew better. He knew that dark haired boy would take a bullet for him, was kind when he thought no one could see him, like when he helped Carl with his math homework or got Debbie that cookbook she’d been wanting, and that he made Ian happy. People seemed to underestimate the valuableness of happiness. 

But Ian knew what it was like to be sad, in the soul crushing way that sunk into your bones and wouldn’t let go. He knew all about doom and gloom and people who would leave you. But Mickey, well he was a bright spot in an otherwise stormy existence. And he’d been there for Ian through everything. Monica, Frank, Spikey. Everything. And he was still here. Still Ian’s friend and lover after all of that. 

So really, it wasn’t that Ian could do better, it’s that there was no one better. At least not form where he was standing. Which, he admitted to himself, was right by Mickey’s side. Right where he should be and always had been.


	22. The Third Cue

“I’m going to have to kill your brother,” Mickey casually told Ian as he lined his shot up at the Alibi. He was currently one ball ahead in this pool game and he was being a smug shit about it.

“Really? What’d Carl do this time?” Ian asked, “accidentally” kicking Mickey as he walked past him, causing his trajectory to be off.

“Not Carl. Lip. He’s an asshole,” Mickey said, annoyed that he’d scratched.

“Well, yeah, but you’re going to have to be more specific,” Ian replied, so used to death threats from Mickey that they were almost like everyone else’s discussions about the weather. 

“He’s sleeping with Mandy,” Mickey said, like that was actually an explanation.

“No shit,” Ian remarked, rolling his eyes at the old news.

“So,” Mickey continued, whacking Ian with his pool cue as he walked by, “I don’t like assholes fucking my sister.”

“You want her to be nun or something? Or did you just forget where you live?” Ian asked, lining up his own shot, leaning forward so that his ass stuck out a bit further. He could practically feel Mickey’s gaze running over him and Ian smirked.

“I’d settle for her not screwing a fucking Gallagher,” Mickey replied, brushing past Ian causing the red head to miscalculate his strike. 

Ian rolled his eyes and said, “I’ll talk to him.”

“About what?”

“What do you mean what? About not being a dick,” Ian said, bumping into the older boy’s shoulder.

“Well thank you mister smart ass,” Mickey said sarcastically, managing to hit the 9 ball into the side pocket.

“Why you gotta be a dick? about this” Ian asked, crossing his arms.

“If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t like me. Don’t give me that look, you’re the one who’s all into feelings and shit. Mr. Sensitive so the ladies love me,” Mickey said with a small laugh that he quickly hid by wiping his mouth. Ian rolled his eyes in response, knowing part of Mickey’s speech was for the benefit of the male Milkovich clan that were hanging around the bar. 

“Just,” Ian began and then said, “Don’t kill my brother. Not until I’ve talked with him at least.”

“I’m not promising nothin’,” Mickey said, and smirked when Ian managed to knock the 5 ball into the corner pocket.

Before Ian could remark on the paradox of double negatives, if only to get a rise out of the older boy, Lip came into the Alibi with Carl who was armed with a bat. The way they moved spoke business and Ian stood up straight as Lip approached them. 

“What’s up?” Ian asked, concerned.

“Debs had a run in with a pervert on the bus,” Lip began.

“She all right?” Ian asked, concerned and angry. Always angry. Mickey tensed as well, prepared to deliver a beat down to any sick fuck who messed with that sweet little girl. 

“She’ll be ok. Mandy’s teaching her how to beat up assholes right now, but we checked the perv registry and it turns out there’s a kid fucker that just moved in a few blocks down,” Lip explained.

Ian and Mickey just exchanged a look before putting their pool cues down and gesturing for a collection of the male members in the bar to follow them on their quest for righteous vengeance. Or at least a good beat down against someone who might actually deserved it. They headed down the streets, a pseudo-march of swagger and determination, and they collected a few other people on their way to the kid fucker’s house. 

When they got there they were all in for a bit of a surprise. Ian and Mickey shared a look before glaring at Lip, even as he huffed in anger that no one was taking the female pedophile in their neighborhood seriously. They didn’t even let him finish his spiel about what he was going to do to put that woman away before they were walking off, their pool game and the beat down long forgotten.

They'd just started wandering when they saw Debbie attempting to master the moves she had learned with her new baton courtesy of Mandy Milkovich. Mickey gestured for Ian to be quiet and he crept up behind the younger red head, visibly trying to hide his mirth. Like a snake he struck and grabbed Debbie from behind, one arm going around her waist, his other hand covering her mouth. “You’re being kidnapped, what do you do?” Mickey asked, his voice far from harsh, but rather full of laughter.

Debbie’s screams were muffled but she elbowed Mickey in the gut, stomped on his instep, and bit his hand. Laughing he let the little girl go and Ian was torn between laughing at Mickey’s antics and making sure Debbie was all right.

“You jerk,” Debbie yelled, turning around and hit Mickey in his chest. He just raised his arms to fend off the little girl’s blows and couldn’t stop his laughter from spilling out.

“All right,” Ian said, stepping in-between them, “that’s enough.”

“Come on man, little red’s got some moves,” Mickey said, reaching out and ruffling Debbie’s hair. She quickly swatted his hand away and glared with all of the ire she possessed. She looked like an offended puppy and Ian couldn’t help but laugh at her expression as well. Debbie quickly turned the glare on her brother, obviously annoyed by his sudden betrayal.

“You’re both jerks,” she said before stomping off towards the playground.

“Come on red,” Mickey yelled after her but then just let her go as his laughter died down.

Ian just play shoved Mickey out of the way and said, “Let’s go get some beers.”

Mickey agreed but not before shoving Ian back. It denigrated from there, as it always seemed to with those boys, resulting in a full out shoving and running war. They would get the beer, eventually, but not before they wound up fucking in an alley, laughter still on their tongues.


	23. The Third Club

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Ian said, as they walked underneath the L. The city was dark, the faint streetlights offering artificial illumination and little clarity, and through certain doorways music and the murmur of conversation could be heard. It had barely begun to cool off from the baking heat of the day but it was far from being chilly.

“Don’t be such a pussy,” Mickey replied, not even looking at the other boy as he gestured for him to follow him down a certain alley. 

“Says the guy who’s following the buddy system,” Ian replied, fighting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Like I want to get stabbed,” Mickey remarked, making it clear just how big of an idiot he thought Ian was being. This time Ian did roll his eyes but Mickey wasn’t looking at him anyway. Instead he was looking at the man who seemed to be blending into the shadows by the dumpster at the far end of the alley.

“You got it?” came the raspy voice from beneath a worn hoddie.

“Yeah, I got it,” Mickey said, reaching into one of the pockets of his cargo pants that he’d stolen from Ian a few years back and pulled out a baggie with white powder. 

“Who’s Pippie Long-Stockings?” the other man asked, his voice wary even as he handed over a wad of cash wrapped in a piece of newspaper to Mickey. 

“He’s cool, don’t worry about it,” Mickey said, sidelining the issue. Without another word they parted ways, the hooded man seeming to fade into the shadows and Mickey and Ian heading to the illuminated opening of the alley. 

As they walked along a section of streets neither was familiar with, the glaring lights of neon through darkened windows splashing out onto the broken sidewalk, Mickey mentioned, “Got an interview down at Clark’s next Tuesday.”

“Are you tellin’ me you might be getting a job?” Ian asked, happiness seeping into his voice on the older boy’s behalf, but he couldn’t resist teasing him. “A real, honest to God, regular shmuck kind of job?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get your panties all wet,” Mickey muttered, ducking his head a bit a refusing to look directly at the red head, “It’s not a done deal or anything. But they need a new mechanic since T-bird’s retiring and he said he’d put in a good word for me. Who knows? Might be something. Might be nothing. We’ll see.”

“Yeah,” Ian agreed before snagging Mickey and pulling him into a dark alley. He shoved the shorter boy against a brick wall where the sounds of some hip hop song was sending vibrations through the masonry. He gave the surprised older boy a quick kiss before hitting his knees and pulling out Mickey’s cock. The red head proceeded to suck and lick, the dark haired boy’s hand found the back of his boyfriend’s head and guided him.

Mickey tried to hold in his groans but he couldn’t find it within himself to care right now. So what if someone saw them? They were in a part of town that no one they knew ever frequented. And Gallagher did so know how to use his mouth. After so many years of being together each boy knew how to make the other one react with barely any effort. And it was clear from the effort Ian was putting in that he was determined to make Mickey see stares. Fair to say, the red head was succeeding.

When Mickey had finished, Ian rose from his prone position after swallowing. He just grinned at Mickey liked he just gotten an A on a chemistry test and scored the winning homerun of a baseball game. It was such an open, and yet somehow smug, smile that Mickey had to do something about it. He grabbed Ian suddenly and flipped their positions and simply muttered, “My turn,” before dropping to his knees to repay the favor in kind.

The back of Ian’s head hit the bricks as he tilted his head back and tried not to moan like a bitch in heat. It was hard though when Mickey, rough and insistent, was sucking him like he was in a war zone. The older boy was completely focused on his task, determined to see it to completion and Ian was just glad to be along for the ride.

So focused where the two teens that they didn’t realized they’d attracted a pair of prying eyes. An older male, in his early sixties maybe, but with the light it was hard to tell, dressed in a grey suit, watched as the muscular red head gasped and clutched the back of the black haired boy’s head as he came. He also made note of the fact that the kneeling boy swallowed. 

“Well, well,” the older man said, his voice as smooth as snake oil, as he seemed to ooze over to the shocked teens.

Ian quickly shoved himself back into his pants and Mickey was on his feet in an instant. Both were in fight or flight mode, ready to do either depending on the old dude’s next move.

“You boys up for a threesome?” he asked with a smile like a used car salesman.

Mickey just looked at Ian briefly and Ian didn’t even try and stop him when he smiled and then head butted the old man. That was quickly followed by a kick to the crouch that sent the older man to his knees as he tried to stem the bleeding from his broken nose. Ian only pulled Mickey off when he thought the beat down was getting excessive and they were beginning to draw attention from the bouncers who lurked in the doors and never seemed to move. 

“Come on,” Ian said, forcibly dragging the dark haired boy off the wheezing man.

“Remember this faggot,” Mickey spat out and Ian nearly barked out a laugh.

“Mickey,” Ian demanded as he saw a backdoor of the club open, and just like that both boys were off and running down the street. They raced back to the L and followed its tracks down to the next station before hoping on the next train to the South Side. Once on the train, sitting in those hard plastic chairs, Ian just held out his hand. Mickey crossed his arms.

“Come on,” Ian said giving the older boy a knowing look and gesturing with his hand.

“Didn’t hurt nothin’” Mickey grumbled as he held out a fist for inspection.

“Yeah, I stopped believing that when you said that after you got knifed. How many stitches was that again? Ten? Fourteen?” Ian remarked, inspecting Mickey’s hands for any injury aside from some residual bruising and the crass tattoos. 

“It was seven and you fucking know it,” Mickey grumbled, sulking like a child as he slumped in his seat, reclaiming his hands and crossing his arms again.

Ian just gave Mickey a look before slumping in the seat next to his boyfriend, letting his eyes fall closed. After a few minutes Ian asked, “Think the old guy’ll say anything?”

“Probably, but not to anyone we’ve got to worry about,” Mickey said, still pouting just a bit.

“Hmm,” Ian agreed, slumping further down and resting his head on Mickey’s shoulder.

“Dude, if you fall asleep on me I will leave your ass on the train,” Mickey said, but he didn’t make any effort to move Ian’s head from his shoulder.

“No you won’t,” Ian said, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

“Yeah, I fucking will,” Mickey insisted and Ian just smirked in response and allowed himself to rest more comfortably on the older boy’s shoulder. Mickey just huffed because both boys knew that Mickey wouldn’t leave Ian behind on the train. And Mickey sorta hated the part of himself that wouldn’t, couldn’t, abandon this red headed boy. But at the same time he knew Ian felt the same so in a way they were almost even. 

Ian snuggled deeper into Mickey’s side and the older boy just sighed and couldn’t help but look at his boyfriend with a mixture of exasperation and affection. Still a damn kid after all.


	24. The Third Laugh

“What are you doing?” Mickey asked, wary and unsure, as Debbie moved around the kitchen with a fierce determination. It was rare for Debbie to be this irate and Mickey moved his loaded magazine further out of grabbing distance. He was cleaning his gun again at the Gallagher family table, going slowly and methodically, because he knew Carl was out of the house.

“I’m making a cake,” she declared as she placed a large mixing bowl and a rolling pin on the counter. 

Mickey raised an eyebrow and asked the next logical question, “Why?”

“Because,” was her smart ass remark as she continued to collect ingredients. Then she remarked, as if this was a conversation that had taken place far too many times before, “Fiona said you’re not supposed to have the gun in the house.” 

“It’s not loaded,” Mickey examined, like that made all the difference. 

“Doesn’t matter. Illegal firearms still carry a heavy fine and possible jail sentence even if the chamber is empty,” Debbie replied as she cracked two eggs into a bowl.

Mickey rolled his eyes, “Why you gotta be a little know it all?”

“Just special like that I guess,” Debbie said with a grin, letting Mickey get away with teasing her.

Mickey returned to cleaning his gun as Debbie began to stir up the batter. “So what flavor?” he asked casually, like he wasn’t already planning on how big of a slice he could get away with eating. 

Before she could reply Ian walked through the kitchen door looking like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or wash his eyeballs out with soap. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Mickey asked as Ian headed for the fridge and got himself a beer. 

“Linda paid me to leave,” Ian said after he’d taken a large gulp of alcohol. 

Mickey put down his gun and Debbie stopped stirring her batter as they both turned to look at the red head. The idea that Linda, the very definition of Tiger Mom, would voluntarily pay an employee to vacate a shift early flew in the face of all knowledge and reason. “What?” Mickey finally asked.

Ian walked over and sat next to Mickey and said, “All right, what I’m going to say can’t leave this kitchen or else I’m fairly certain that Linda will come after my balls.”

Debbie and Mickey glanced at each other before turning back to Ian and nodding. 

“So I caught Kash fucking that Thompson kid, Tommy. Well, I guess I should say I caught Kash getting fucked. Anyway, I didn’t catch him alone. Linda was with me to go over inventory and she said she’d pay for the whole day if I left. Last I saw she was getting ready to punch Kash,” Ian explained and then took another large gulp of his beer.

“Jesus,” Mickey said, turning back to his gun, “I thought you were gonna say Linda shot Kash. That’d be good. Why you actin’ like a traumatized Bambi?”

“If you had to see Thompson’s acne ridden ass you’d need to bleach your brain as well,” Ian protested, but he was already back to his old self.

“Gross,” Debbie said as she pretended to gag and then went back to her cake batter.

“So why aren’t you at work?” Ian asked, nudging Mickey’s knee with his own.

“They said they wanted to start me out next week. On a trial basis,” Mickey said, with a heavy dose of mockery mixed into those last two words. He finished inspecting his gun and then loaded the magazine, hearing that satisfying click as it locked into place.

“Thought you said you weren’t going to load it,” Debbie remarked as she preheated the oven.

“Well after your lecture I figure I might as well. And before you throw a hissy fit the safety’s on,” Mickey explained, as he tucked the gun into the back of his pants.

“Just don’t let Carl see it,” Ian said, taking another swig of his beer and Debbie gave a noise of assent as well.

“Hardie har har, like I haven’t heard that one before,” Mickey replied, reaching out and kicking Ian’s shin.

“Asshole,” was all the response he got.

\-----

When Mickey and Ian got back from making a beer run later that night they had not expected to walk in on Jimmy-- Steve, the guy who sorta dated Fiona-- asking Fiona if his drunk father could stay there for the night. They also had not expected Jimmy’s dad to be the guy Mickey had beat the shit out of earlier that summer. The two teens were at the edge of the living room, observing the scene, when the grey haired man noticed the tense and muscular young men. 

He made a half gesture and slurred some words together that no one could understand before attempting to take a step. He ended up tripping over himself and half-collapsing into his son, who looked beyond embarrassed and annoyed. Having dealt with drunk fathers most of their lives the Gallaghers and the Milkovich in the room weren’t fazed. Still, Ian and Mickey just shared a look before heading up the stairs.

Ian paused by Fiona and asked quietly, “Hey, he’s not really staying here, is he?”

“It’s just for one night,” Fiona said, and it was almost like she was trying to convince herself, “Go get some sleep.”

“Night Fiona,” Ian said, giving her a kiss on the cheek before following Mickey up the stairs.

“Night Ian,” she replied and then, after a pause, she called out, “Night Mickey.”

“Night,” was the muffled response from upstairs. Fiona just sighed before turning back to instruct Jimmy’s dad where the bathroom was and that he’d be sleeping on the couch.

Up in the boy’s room Ian and Mickey got ready for bed pointedly ignoring the elephant in the room that was Jimmy’s dad. Neither of them was going to bring up the fact that if the old man decided to unbutton his trap they’d have to lay another beat down before word spread. Not many people would believe some North Side prick but some might and that might cause a whole heap of trouble later on. Still, they would deal with that in the morning, when the old man was sober and more perceptive to threats. 

They settled in for the night, Lip in his bunk bed, Carl splayed out on his bed, and Ian with his arm tossed over a near drooling Mickey. Everyone was awoken though, when Lip pushed a naked Ned out of his bed. There was a lot of yelling, and Jimmy dragging his dad out of the room and out of the house before Lip, Ian and Mickey could beat the old man to death. Carl would have helped. They may have let him live but there was no way he was staying in the house after that.

While Jimmy had a heart to heart with his father on the front porch of the Gallagher’s South Side home, most of the boys were now awake. Carl had crawled right back into bed and passed out, but it was apparent Lip was creeped out. Ian handed him half a left over joint to calm his nerves but Mickey was laughing his ass off. He was laughing so hard he had to go to the bathroom to pee so he wouldn’t wet his pants. While he was in the John, Lip just turned to Ian and asked, “He’s never gonna let this go, is he?”

“Nope,” Ian replied without hesitation.

“Christ,” Lip muttered, anger and frustration bleeding into his tone. He smoked the last bit of the joint and then climbed up into his bed, determined to avoid Mickey until the morning.

When Mickey got back to the room he was still laughing every now and then like he had just witnessed the single, most funniest moment of his entire existence. He crawled over Ian to settle into his spot on the bed, his repressed laughter shaking the mattress ever so slightly. Ian just rolled his eyes but he could help but grin as well. It was nice to see Mickey so happy after all.


	25. The Third Call

“Hey Lip, how’s your ass? Need Jimmy’s dad to look at it?” Mickey asked, laughing, a couple of days later as everyone bustled around getting breakfast and ready for the day.

“It wasn’t funny the first five times you said it, and it isn’t funny now,” Lip replied, enervation lacing through his words as he reached for a cup of coffee.

“Says you,” Mickey shot back, taking a bite of his eggs.

“Says everyone in the known world,” Lip volleyed back, exasperated, before quickly downing his coffee and heading out the door.

“I’ve got to head out too,” Ian said, running down the stairs and grabbing a piece of toast before piling some eggs on top of it. He quickly kissed the top of Debbie’s head as Mickey bolted the rest of his food before following the tall red heat out into the Chicago heat.

“Gallagheres,” Fiona yelled before Ian and Lip were out of hearing range, “We’ve got to dig today.”

“After work. Promise,” Ian said and Mickey nodded in agreement, before they continued on their predetermined trajectory.

“Lip,” Fiona yelled out into the yard.

“Got community service hours, but I’ll see if I can round up some man power,” he called back before heading down the street.

“Can’t believe I’m helping you dig up a dead body,” Mickey said, as he walked with Ian to the store.

“Yeah, well, think of it as a good cause. Besides, you’re good with digging graves,” Ian noted.

“To put people in them. No one ever did any digging anyone up,” Mickey protested, acting like the distinction made all the difference. “We’re not grave robbers,” he made sure to explain. Sure his family may dig graves, peddle drugs and firearms, commit armed robbery and assault on a regular basis, but digging up graves was apparently crossing the line.

“Has the mighty Mickey Milkovich grown a conscience?” Ian asked with a laugh.

“Fuck you,” was all the response the red head got.

The stopped in-front of the Kash-‘n-Grab, Mickey trying not show how nervous he really was but Ian knew him too well.

“Now remember to play nice with the other kids. I don’t want any phone calls on the first day,” Ian said, imitating a parent, or an older sibling, as they sent their child off to their first day at a new school.

“Yes mother,” Mickey said, rolling his eyes before lightly punching Gallagher in the shoulder and heading down the road to the local garage.

“Don’t fuck it up,” Ian yelled after the dark haired boy and was flipped off for his efforts. But Ian just smiled, he knew Mickey would do fine. As long as he didn’t beat anyone with a wrench he’d be fine. 

\--- 

“Who the fuck called CPS?” Mickey asked as he changed into semi-clean clothes after his shower. The two teens were at the Milkovich house, Mickey have just washed off most of the sweat and grease from his first day, while Ian lounged on the dirty couch in Mickey’s room. He threw a worn baseball in the air angrily before catching it and then repeating the same process over and over again.

“No clue. Think it might have been Tony’s girlfriend,” Ian said, trying to keep his anger buried down deep.

“That’s what you get for living next to a cop,” Mickey pointed out as he pulled a worn tank top over his head.

Ian didn’t say anything, just continued to toss and catch the baseball, harsher each time. “So what are you gonna do?”

“What we do every time this happens. Get placed in foster care, wait it out until Fiona can get either Frank or Monica to make the necessary court appearance, and then hopefully come home,” Ian said, listing off the inevitable course of events like a laundry list. He was agitated with each question Mickey asked, with so much energy he either needed a fight or a fuck and since Terry was in the house that negated one of those options.

“Well, Fiona did find Aunt Ginger,” Mickey commented, tossing his towel into a corner of his room where it would lurk until he decided to take another shower. 

“Can we not talk about this?” Ian asked, glancing at Mickey before going back to tossing the ball. Mickey rolled his eyes but walked over to the couch and snagged the ball before Ian could catch it again.

Ian sat up, “Give me the ball Mickey.”

“Mm, no,” Mickey replied as he pretended to think about it.

“Give me the god damn ball,” Ian said again, his muscles tensing up.

“What’re you gonna do about it? Huh?” Mickey asked, a shit eating grin threatening to spill onto his face as he held the ball up and gave it a mocking wiggle.

There was a pause when Ian didn’t say anything and then he launched himself at Mickey. The ball was lost in the scuffle as both boys laid into each other even as they laughed, Mickey more so than Ian. Eventually, Ian managed to lock Mickey in a headlock and was attempting to pin his legs when Terry walked into the room, clearly looking for the bathroom

“What the fuck are you two doing?” the belligerent older man asked as he took in the scene before him.

The boys froze in their, rather awkward, positions. “Uh, nothin’ Dad,” Mickey spoke up, elbowing Ian in the shoulder, “Just horsing around.”

“Well do it somewhere else,” he barked before heading to the toilet, “God damn kids,” he muttered under his breath.

The boys disentangled themselves and shifted a bit. “Well,” Ian said, “I guess I should go. Fiona wants to have a family meeting before we get hauled off tomorrow.”

“Yeah man,” Mickey said, nodding his head as Ian prepared the leave. The red head paused in the doorway, glancing from the floor to Mickey, before finally saying, “Hey man? Thanks.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Mickey said, gesturing for Ian to leave but in a way that lacked any real conviction.

Ian just smiled before walking away and Mickey desperately wanted to tell him, “Anytime.”

But he didn’t, couldn’t, because a South Side boy didn’t have feelings like everybody else. And certainly not feelings for a certain red head who’d been his best friend since elementary school. Certainly not for a boy. Not at all. And Mickey could feel his heart laugh at the lies he told himself.


	26. The Third Catch

A few days later, once Ian had been allowed out due to work release, Mickey made his way to the Kash-n-Grab during his lunch break. Ian was seated at the counter, flipping through some book that looked way too boring for the red head to be paying it that much attention, and Kash was lurking in a corner doing inventory of some kind. 

“Yo shopkeep,” Mickey said as he approached the counter and gave Ian a once over. It was good to see the younger boy and Mickey wasted no time in drinking in the sight of his boyfriend.

“Hey Mickey,” Ian said, putting the book down and smiling like the dark haired boy had just given him twenty bucks for the hell of it. “What’s up?”

“Not much man. Job’s a joke. But how’re you holding up? You with some foster nut-jobs again?” the dark haired boy asked, glancing at Ian’s face before wiping a grease stain from his hand to his work clothes. 

“Nah, Lip and I are too old be placed. They got us down in some group home. It’s like a fucking labor camp there, no privacy and no human rights,” Ian explained, puffing out some air at the end as if he were attempting to let go of some of his anger at the whole situation. “Just worried about the kids is all, especially Debs. They placed her on her own.”

“They’ll be fine. I mean they’re Gallaghers right?” Mickey asked, awkwardly shifting as he tried to assure the younger boy what he knew to be true, “You guys bounce back from some of the weirdest shit.” 

“Yeah,” Ian agreed with a little laugh, “I guess we do.”

Before Mickey could say anything more Tommy Thompson entered the store in all his acne ridden, stringy haired glory. The lanky sixteen year old sulked past Ian and headed to the back store room and Kash quickly followed the teen. Mickey just looked at Ian with a raised eyebrow. Ian just shook his head and rolled his eyes in response. Mickey just shrugged in shoulders before leaning on the counter. He was about to say something when Linda burst into the store from the upstairs.

“Where is he?” she demanded, all authority and anger.

Ian froze like a deer in the headlights but Mickey just pointed to the freezer room only concerned with redirecting Linda’s ire. The older woman just turned to the backroom and burst in on whatever the hell was going on back there. Ian and Mickey just stayed where they were, listening to the yelling (Linda), the feeble protests (Kash) and the nasal explanation (Tommy) that seeped out into the store. 

It was like a bad day time soap except they actually knew these people and that just made it so much better. But then Ian had to go and fucking ruin Mickey’s enjoyment of the car wreck that was someone else’s life by asking, “You’re not gonna mess with Tommy, right?”

“Dude, why the fuck are you asking me that?” Mickey asked, shifting his attention back to the red head.

“He’s just mixed up is all,” Ian defended, “He doesn’t need you kicking his ass to add to it.”

“Maybe a good beat down would sort him out,” Mickey protested but more out of habit than anything else.

“Not everything can be solved by a beat down,” Ian explained, again, for what felt like the millionth time.

“Says you,” was the practiced response.

“Says everybody,” Ian shot back, turning back to his book.

“Fine, fine,” Mickey said, pulling Ian’s attention back to him, “I guess fucking Kash is punishment enough.”

Ian couldn’t help but snicker at that and nearly choked as Linda reappeared from the backroom. She paused, took a deep breath and seemed to be wiping away a tear quickly. When she noticed the teenage boys looking at her she just said, her voice wobbling slightly as she tried to be stern, “No freebies,” and went back up-stairs.

A few moments later Tommy sulked back out and skirted around Mickey as he practically bolted out of the store. Kash appeared next, tucking in his shirt and avoiding the teenage boys’ gaze, before heading back to his far corner of the store.

“Shit, what time is it?” Mickey asked, turning away from the pathetic sight of a middle aged man going through a life choices crisis.

“Two. Why?” Ian asked after glancing at his watch.

“Fuck. Gonna be late. I’ll see you later Gallagher,” Mickey said as he headed out of the store.

“See ya,” Ian replied to the older boy’s back as it disappeared into the Chicago heat. And he ducked his head down into his book and didn’t even try to hide his grin.


	27. The Third Tear

In the dark of night at the group home Ian lay awake on his uncomfortable bottom bunk and fought the overwhelming urge to cry. Frank, fucking Frank, the man who claimed to be their father, had turned them over to CPS. Because they wouldn’t let him sleep in the house he basically stole from a dead relative whom he was committing fraud with said relative's identity. Fucking Frank.

So now it all came down to Fiona. It always came down to Fiona. She shouldn’t have to be fighting to get custody of her younger siblings at her age but she was. Because she would never leave any of them behind. It wasn’t fair though. None of it was. And Ian just wanted to go home. He didn’t want to have to worry about getting jumped in the showers, or eating the literal shit that was the group home’s excuse for food, or be away from his family. From Mickey.

Ian could feel the wetness start to leak out of his eyes but he refused to make a sound. Still, Lip must have sensed something was wrong because he slid down from the top bunk and pushed Ian over a little bit so he could lay down next to his little brother. Ian rolled on his side and refused to face Lip.

“You all right?” Lip asked quietly, staring up at the industrial metal bars that supported the top bunk. 

“Fine,” Ian said, his voiced muffled and strained, betraying his answer.

“Yeah,” Lip sighed, “I wanna go home too.”

Ian didn’t say anything, just stared into the darkness, the wetness on his cheeks betraying him in the silence.

“Fiona will win. You’ll see,” Lip assured Ian. The two brothers just lay next to each other for a while, neither sleeping but neither feeling the urge to speak. It was almost like they were kids again, sleeping in the back of Uncle Mike’s van, and trying not to draw attention to themselves. Lip used to tell Ian stories while they lay next to Fiona and then, when it got too late, they would just lay in the darkness listening to the gentle sound of Fiona’s breathing as she held them tight. 

Then, after a time, Ian rolled over and faced Lip. His brother looked at him from the corner of his eye and Ian seemed to be debating with himself for a brief moment. Then he blurted out, in the quietest of whispers, “I miss Mickey.”

Lip just sighed and rolled onto his side and threw an arm over Ian to hug him. “Yeah buddy, I know.” He may not approve of his brother’s choice of romantic partner but Ian had had the longest, most stable romantic relationship out of any of the Gallaghers so he must be doing something right with Milkovich. What went unsaid was the Ian wasn’t used to sleeping alone anymore; hadn’t been since about the sixth grade. More nights out of the week then not Mickey was either in Ian’s bed or vice versa, the two boys entangled in some fashion. 

Ian let himself silently cry into his big brother’s chest, his shoulders shaking as he tried not to let a single sound escape. He didn’t want to give these assholes anymore ammunition then they already seemed to have. Lip just rubbed his back and let Ian have his break. Just that one, small, little break that rarely anybody got to see. Mickey usually saw it now in days. But he wasn’t here and so Lip willingly took on the mantle of supportive big brother. 

And in their heart of hearts both boys just wanted to go home.


	28. The Third Lock

Mickey, for what felt like the first time in weeks, was completely comfortable where he was. That was to say, laying on top of Gallagher indulging in some deep, slow kissing with the bedroom door closed and locked (at least Gallagher said it was locked) while the rest of the Gallagher clan had fucked off to who knows where. Mickey wasn’t inclined to care at the moment as one of Ian’s hands twined itself in Mickey’s hair, keeping the older boy firmly in place, while his other hand moved into Mickey’s pants. Not that Mickey was complaining. Oh, far, far from it. 

Mickey was unbuttoning Ian’s pants when Fiona shoved the door open while putting on a button up formal office shirt. “Oh good, you’re both here,” she said, not even caring as the boys scrambled away from each other and shoved a pillow and some dirty clothes over their, rather obvious, boners. 

“I need you two to watch Carl and Liam. Debbie’s over at Shelia’s but I think Carl still may have a bit of a concussion. Oh, and make sure Liam doesn’t use that toilet Cousin Patrick left in the living room. If he doesn’t come get it in a week we’ll fence it. You know any buyers Mickey?” Fiona asked, looking up as she finished buttoning the last button.

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” Mickey said, uncertain of what he was supposed to do. He was tempted to run but he knew Fiona wouldn’t rat on him, especially not since what she’d walked in on involved her brother. And he couldn’t exactly fight her. So he sat in an awkward state of boner killing anxiety while Ian shifted anxiously next to him trying to will his erection to go down. 

Mickey was so going to kick Gallagher’s ass for this. 

“Good,” Fiona said with a brief close lipped smile before turning to Ian, “Ian, you’re on dinner duty tonight. And none of that chicken nugget shit. Something with a vegetable this time.”

“Sure thing Fi,” Ian said, his voice slighting higher then normal, refusing to look at his sister and keeping his pillow firmly pressed into his lap. 

“Practice safe sex,” she shot over her shoulder with a smirk as she left the room, closing the door behind her. Ian wished the floor would open up and swallow him as he flushed a bright red, his skin nearly blending in with his hair. 

“Door’s fucking locked, huh?” Mickey said, giving Ian his best glare.

“I thought it was, all right,” Ian protested.

“Locked my fucking ass,” Mickey shot back, his voice rising as his disbelief did. Ian knew what was at stake if they were caught. At best, a bashing, at worse, a tragic news story about two boys murdered beneath the L. And that was if they ever found their bodies. 

“You could have checked,” Ian replied, quickly shoving aside his embarrassment in favor of exasperation at his boyfriend. 

“Not with your hand on my dick,” Mickey shot back, like it was the obvious answer.

Ian just rolled his eyes and put his pillow back in its place. He leaned back against it and pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. “Look, it’s just Fiona. We got nothing to worry about.”

“Now it’s just Fiona, but it coulda been anybody. It could of been my dad and then we’d both be fucking dead with two bullets in our heads. You ever think of that? Huh?” Mickey said, angrily swiping the cigarette from Ian’s mouth and taking a deep drag.

“I’m sorry, all right? Is that what you want to hear?” Ian grumbled, letting out his lungful of smoke.

“No. What I want to hear is that you’ll lock the fucking door next time,” Mickey said, letting the smoke spill out of his mouth as he talked. He then stood up, the half-burnt cigarette hanging out of his mouth as he went over to the closed door and turned the lock and latched the dead bolt Ian, himself, had installed a few months ago. “See? Not that fucking difficult.”

“All right, all right,” Ian agreed, waving his hand as if to wave the disagreement away. He leaned back against the wall and put his hand by his still half-hard dick. “So, uh, you still wanna go?” he asked looking at Mickey from beneath his lashes.

Mickey just looked at Gallagher for a moment, like he couldn’t believe this kid was real, and then shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, all right.” And proceeded to let the smoke fall from his mouth, grinding it into the floor while he took off his shirt.

“Classy,” Ian remarked sarcastically even as his eyes trailed over the well defined muscles that made up the older boy’s torso.

“Shut up,” Mickey replied, throwing his shirt to the ground.

“Make me,” Ian challenged with a smirk and a knowing glint in his eye.

And Mickey proceeded to do just that.


	29. The Third Illness

“Dude, you look like shit,” Mickey said bluntly as he stood over his bed where a very tired and very sick Ian Gallagher lay, wrapped up in Mickey’s blankets.

“Nice to see you too,” Ian muttered back through his stuffed up nose, looking up at Mickey through burly eyes. 

“Don’t you have school?” Mickey asked as he threw his work shirt to the floor and picked up a relatively clean one to put on.

“Too sick. Skipping. Didn’t want to get Debbie, Carl or Liam sick so I came over here. The Gallagher clan thanks you for your bed,” Ian replied, a weak cough escaping him at the end.

“So you don’t mind getting me sick? I see how it is,” Mickey replied, putting on his sweatpants.

“Like you ever get sick,” Ian muttered, burying his head into Mickey’s pillow, “fucking Chernobyl immune system.”

“Pussy,” Mickey grunted at the red head before heading to the kitchen and grabbing a beer for himself and a glass of water for Ian. He plopped the glass on the bedside table before sitting on the edge of the bed and cracking open his beer.

“So Mr. Kipkey finally told me why he didn’t suspend my ass last semester,” Ian huffed out from his cocoon of worn blankets.

“What’d he want?” Mickey asked, lowering his beer can as he looked over the younger boy’s expression.

“Wants me talk to his son. About, you know, being gay,” Ian said, his voice slow and slightly slurred from exhaustion.

“You told him to fuck off, right?” Mickey demanded.

“Told ‘im I’d think about it,” Ian muttered, shifting into a more comfortable position.

“You thought about it and the answer’s no,” Mickey insisted, taking another swallow of his beer.

“Don’t know. Kid sounds pretty confused. Not like I’m going to a rally,” Ian replied, not even opening his eyes.

“Fuck the kid. And fuck Kipkey too. You say anything and it’s your own funeral,” Mickey said, seeking to remind Ian that, hey, being gay in their neighborhood was like painting a target on your back.

“I know,” Ian replied in a way that Mickey knew that meant Ian was going to fucking talk to this kid. Screw his own safety, he had to go all ghetto Mr. Rogers and help another queer out because that’s what goody-two-shoes Gallaghers do.

Mickey was about to rip Ian a new one when he finally just looked at the kid. He was pale, paler then normal anyway, and he looked like death warmed up served next to a side of dog shit. 

“Whatever man,” Mickey eventually said with a grumble, rolling his eyes. Ian didn’t reply, his breathing finally evening out. The dark haired boy put down his beer, gave a quick glace around, and then rested his hand on the red head’s forehead. A mild fever, nothing to worry about. It was a testament to their friendship that Mickey didn’t kick Ian out of his bed for dripping snot onto his pillow or leaving his germs everywhere. Instead the older boy just made sure the blankets were tucked around the younger boy and left to get Debbie to make some soup he could bring back for the sick boy. No need to let him starve after all.


	30. The Third Rejection

“Are you crying?” Mickey asked the back of Ian Gallagher as he, once again, commandeered Mickey’s bed. The younger boy faced the wall, hunched into a half-formed fetal position, buried in a cocoon of the older boy’s dirty red blanket.

“No,” came the lie, the word wobbly and watery.

“Fucking liar,” Mickey muttered before sitting down on the bed, part of his back leaning into Ian’s back. The dark haired boy huffed a sigh before asking, “What happened this time?” and pulled out a cigarette. 

Ian was quiet for a while, snuffling on occasion, as Mickey slowly smoked one cigarette down to the butt and then lit up another one. The smoke seemed to hang in the air instead of drifting higher, almost like it was caught in a cloud of angst and curiosity.

“Lip got into MIT,” Ian finally said, his voice low and nearing monotone, “Full ride and everything.”

“He gonna take it?” Mickey asked after he blew out a lungful of smoke. He didn’t actually care but Gallagher did so he’d go along with it.

“Who knows. Too stupid for being so smart,” Ian replied quietly, snuffling again. He still refused to look at Mickey and the older boy didn’t push him. Just kept smoking away.

The two boys feel into silence again, neither making a move to say or do anything. Then, after a time, Mickey asked, in that blunt way of his, “So what’s actually wrong? Cause I fucking know it doesn’t have to do with Lip.”

Ian bit his lip and then shoved his head into the pillow before saying, in a muffled mumble, “Didn’t get in.”

“What?” Mickey asked, shifting to turn and actually look at Gallagher.

Ian sat up in bed, the blankets falling from him, his eyes bloodshot, his skin blotchy and red, and his voice holding a hint of a tremor as he said with barely repressed anger, “I didn’t get in all right. West Point rejected me. I’m another South Side shit failure who couldn’t cut it. All right? Will you drop it now?”

Mickey didn’t even nod before Ian flopped back down on the bed and rolled back into his previous position. The older boy just looked down at the now, understandably, angry red head. 

“Fuck ‘em,” Mickey said, instead of giving into the sympathy most people would have shown a kid whose whole dream had been shit on.

“What?” Ian said, twisting to look up at the dark haired boy who was sucking on another smelly cigarette. 

“Fuck ‘em,” Mickey repeated. “Fuck the whole lot of ‘em. You didn’t get in? Good. You’re better than that. Enlist like the rest of the real men and show those West Point ass-wipes how big a fuck up they made by not accepting you. You can still be an officer.”

“It’s gonna take like five to ten years longer,” Ian protested but more out of shock then anything else. Mickey actually sounded almost reasonable. 

“So what? Not like you were planning on quitting the army anyway. You’re a regular jar-head for life,” Mickey reminded Ian, before saying, “So quiet your bitch-ass whining and come help me unload some parts.”

“What’s in it for me?” Ian asked, his tears retreating in the face of Mickey’s common sense.

“Fifty-bucks and a blowjob,” Mickey replied, lighting up another cigarette and handing it to Ian.

“Done,” Ian replied with a small smile around the burning tobacco. It didn’t quiet reach his eyes, but it was getting there.

“Seriously man,” Mickey said, as they made their way to the front door, “Fuck ‘em all.”

“The South Side way,” Ian replied with a nod as he slipped his shoes on.

“Now he gets it,” Mickey said, as he lightly slapped Ian upside the head. And this time, the boy’s smile, small though it was, reached his eyes.


	31. The Final Moment

The ride on the L to the O’Hare airport had been loud and full of stories and jokes and Mickey, Debbie and Carl teased Ian before he headed out for deployment. After graduating Ian had decided to enlist, much to the dismay of Lip and Fiona and, privately, Mickey, and after Basic he had come home for a few short weeks before getting his assignment. The whole Gallagher clan and Co. had thrown a huge going away party for him the night before since Fiona and Lip couldn’t come see Ian off at the airport. Shelia was watching Liam while the Gallagher kids and Mickey followed Ian on his last L ride before shipping out.

Once at the airport, a few hours early and a bit nervous, since none of them had even been in the airport let alone ridden on a plane, Ian checked his bag and got his ticket without any problems. Before he headed through to the security lines he paused to say his final goodbyes. His camo stood out like a sore thumb among the suits and ties flying to business meetings. 

He hugged Carl tight and gave him a kiss on the head before saying, “Now remember what I said about the knife.”

“It’s a privilege not a right, so don’t use it on anything living unless they try to hurt Debbie or Liam,” Carl recited as he clung to his big brother. “I’m gonna miss you,” the younger boy said, his expression falling as his older brother rubbed the younger boy’s back before releasing him.

“I’m gonna miss you too buddy,” Ian said softly, rubbing the top of Carl’s head. 

He then turned to Debbie and accepted her as she flung herself into a hug, clutching Ian around his neck as he lifted her up. For a moment she was a young child again and Ian was carrying her to bed. She fought her tears, promising herself she wouldn’t cry, as she held onto her brother. “It’s okay Debs,” Ian whispered to her, rubbing her back, “It’s okay.” And Debbie just nodded even though she knew it wasn’t true. 

Once he put her down he turned to Mickey. The two boys didn’t say anything, they didn’t have to, just entered into a hug that was like the beginning of a fight. They boys clutched each other tightly, Ian squeezing his eyes shut in an effort not to cry, as he clung to the boy he’d been in love with since he was thirteen. Mickey’s fingers dug into Ian’s back as he pulled the red head closer, refusing to let go even as he knew they’d passed the acceptable time for two guys to hug. Fuck ‘em. Ian, his Ian, was leaving and he wouldn’t be able to feel him for more months then he cared to think about. 

Neither of the boys wanted to end the hug but eventually they pulled apart, almost at the same time, slowly releasing each other. Ian gave a tight lipped nod to Mickey, ruffled his little siblings’ hair and made his way to the security check point. Before he disappeared through the silver and chrome checkpoint Mickey shouted to the red head in desert camo, “Hey, don’t get shot over there.”

Ian just raised his hand in a final middle finger salute before disappearing amidst the TSA agents. The red head didn’t turn around; he refused to, because if he did then the tears he was holding in would fall. He was leaving his family for the first time in his life and he wasn’t quite sure when he’d seen them again. No more Gallagher clan, no more Kev and V, no more Mandy, no more Mickey, at least not for a while. And Ian could feel his heart ache for the home he’d barely left behind.

“First time deploying?” an African-American man in matching camo asked kindly. His name tag proclaimed him to be Private Jeffers. 

“That obvious?” Ian replied, with a watered down smile.

“Just know the look,” the older man said kindly. “Guess you must be missing your girl already.”

“Don’t have a girlfriend,” Ian said with a shake of his head and a smile.

“Well don’t worry about that. I know some fine ladies who love them some service men,” Jeffers said with a friendly glint in his eye.

Ian laughed and said, with a slight wickedness in his words, “I said I didn’t have a girlfriend not that I didn’t have a boyfriend.”

“Well, shit man,” Jeffers said, looking embarrassed, “Where you from again?”

``````````````````````````````

Debbie couldn’t hold her tears in any longer as Ian disappeared from sight and was clutching Mickey’s side as she looked at the security check point. Her face was scrunched up as she cried and Carl, following his big sister’s lead, clung to Mickey’s other side. The dark haired boy would have normally sent them to Ian for emotional shit like this but Ian wasn’t here. It was just Mickey now. So he let the Gallagher kids cling to him as if they could steal the last remnants of the hug Mickey’d received not minutes before. 

Mickey eventually wrapped the Gallagher kids in his arms and glared on any businessman or soccer mom who thought to judge their motley crew. Fuck ‘em. Fuck every single one of them. They didn’t know what they’d just given away. Sent to fight the great mysterious enemy of the American people who didn’t give two shits. So Mickey took on the mantle of protector as the two preteens huddled closer to him in the strange, unfamiliar place that dared to spirit their brother away from them. 

And in his heart Mickey could almost hear Ian’s wobbly voice as he sang, “Oh please don’t take my sunshine away.” And Mickey bit his cheek until it bled and not one tear dare to fall that day. Not one damn tear.

~~~~~~~~

(Several Months Later)

Mickey fucking hated the airport, he really did. People rushing about in a mad confusion, always asking the time, the air was stale and the seats were hard plastic from the Cold War. And Gallagher was late by over an hour, so yeah, Mickey hated this place. So what if he was the only one who knew that Gallagher was getting in tonight. It was gonna be some big surprise for the Gallagher clan, the long lost solider boy coming home, at least for a little while. And so, yeah, maybe Mickey was excited that Ian was coming home, not that he’d ever admit it. But he hadn’t left and that said something.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a string of camo wearing jar heads appeared from the arrivals gates. Many were greeted with family and friends, many holding signs and balloons, rushing to hug/tackle their returning soldiers. There was laughter and exclamations of joy and Mickey heard none of it. He was focused on a tall red head that was making his way slowly over to the dark haired boy. The red head limped slightly, like someone had given him a permanent dead leg, but he covered it fairly well. Still, to someone who’d been best friends with the kid since they were in Little League it was easy to spot the difference.

Then Ian was standing in-front of Mickey, his cheeks a little more gaunt then before, his blue eyes a little more wounded, and a new burn scar on his right ear and side of his neck. He gave a tired smile to the older boy, bunching the new bags underneath his eyes.

“Thought I told you not to get shot,” Mickey said, looking the younger boy over.

“It’s good to see you too Mic,” Ian replied, briefly rolling his eyes before giving a grin. 

Then Mickey was smiling back but pretending he wasn’t, and opening his arms, ever so slightly. And Ian took the subtle invitation and embraced his boyfriend. They clutched each other much the same way they had before Ian had left, neither man wanting to let the other person go. 

“Missed you,” Ian muttered into Mickey’s shoulder, “Missed you so damn much.”

The older man just hugged the younger man tighter before mumbling softly, “Missed you too.” And Mickey could feel Ian’s grin against his skin.

And it felt so right to hold the younger man again, to feel his skin against his, and to feel the familiar breathe as it ruffled his dark hair, that Mickey let himself grin too. For the first time in months, he felt home.

Because that’s what those two boys, now men, would always be to one another; Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it. The End. It's been an interesting and wonderful journey and I want to thank each and every one of you for the reviews and kudos you left. They truly meant the world to me. Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments and/or Kudos are always appreciated


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